Ranch Girl Got Back
by Chrysa Lite
Summary: All city-sick Chelsea ever wanted was to leave the city, get back to nature, and maybe talk about Sunshine Islands life and recipes and DIYs on her farm-themed Tumblr. But when you're born a Harvest, your epic destiny finds you...even when you're not looking for it. / New summary, same story.
1. Chapter 1

ranchgirlinthecity . tumblr . com

_Ranch-to-City: Girl Transitions_

Rancher girl, twenty-one. A lost little forget-me-not planted in concrete.

**rancher recipes  
rancher diys  
rancher ramblings  
rancher interview  
**

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**ranchgirlinthecity**

Well, Honeycrisp apples, I hinted last week that there was a very, very big surprise I might unveil this week, although not all of you would be in favor of it. Some of you guessed correctly, and others were _way _off the mark. But nonetheless, here is the surprise:

This is the end of Girl Transitions.

Thank you so much for your kind messages and Tumblr asks and all the support you've shown me through the three years I've been a lost little forget-me-not! You sweetpeas have been the joy of my heart since I first came to the city, and writing Girl Transitions has been one of the sweetest experiences of my life. I am so grateful of have 'met' all of you, and to have experienced Tumblr ohana like this. And although I am leaving Girl Transitions, I'll always love Tumblr and all of my followers.

_But why are you leaving?! _you guys cry out.

Well…

Because I gone and done bought me a farm!

That's right, toy flowers, I'm moving out of the city. A certain island group put up an ad for a rancher, and you know me, pink cats – I just couldn't say no. In a week or so, I'll be moving out of The City and back to nature.

Again, my clovers, thank you so much for supporting me through city life. I love you all so much and I'll miss posting! I hope you all learned something from Girl Transitions, even if it's just how a silly little girl managed to live like a city slicker for three years. :) I love and I'll miss you all!

Forever and ever yours,  
Ranch Girl

57 notes

Comments are enabled by Disqus.

sherlocki-ann: Omg. Nooooo. Don't leave, Ranchie!  
lady-loki-of-asgard: I'm going to miss your blog so much! :( Can't you blog from your ranch? Like, City-to-Ranch or Girl Got Back or something. :(  
stone-wand-cloak: What Tumblr user lady-loki-of-asgard said! I'll miss this blog so much. Keep posting!  
storm-in-my-best-dress: Is it possible to dislike a post? I'll message staff. Ugh. Heart = breaking.  
green-lanturn: But what about The Boy?

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Chelsea leaned back as Tumblr flooded with notes and asks from her followers. It was heartwarming – and heartbreaking – to see how badly her followers took the thought of her leaving Girl Transitions.

Ranch-to-City: Girl Transitions had been her coworker's idea, three years ago when Chelsea's homesickness was obvious. "Blog it out," her fellow teacher had suggested. "Write about it on Tumblr. It's a great platform, easy to use and understand."

So Chelsea had tried it. She found themes and HTML to be a bit beyond her, but with some clicking around she'd picked a decent-enough theme and an URL and title. And there she'd written post after post about how she missed the farm where she'd grown up, shared her miserable attempts at imitating her mother's farm-fresh cooking with city ingredients, and just generally talked about how hard and awkward it was to transition from simple farm girl to city-dweller.

Somewhere between her recipe for white bread and her mother's orange curry, she'd started to gain followers. Chelsea didn't really understand it, but there they were: reblogging her recipes, sharing in her sorrow when family dog Pongo died, sending her loving messages. It was due to her blog that she hadn't gone crazy in just under a year of city life. She never stopped being homesick, but blogging made her feel better.

* * *

**ranchgirlinthecity**

**lady-loki-of-asgard** replied your **post**: _**Well, Honeycrisp apples, I hinted last week that there was a very, very big surprise…**_

_I'm going to miss your blog so much! :( Can't you blog from your ranch? Like, City-to-Ranch or Girl Got Back or something. :(_

Girl Got Back omg that made me laugh so hard. XD It's a great title, though. But, I mean…would you guys be really interested in what a rancher has to say about ranch life? (Omg. I am going back to ranch life. Celebrate with me!)

**green-lanturn **replied to your **post:** _**Well, Honeycrisp apples, I hinted last week that there was a very, very big surprise…**_

_But what about The Boy?_

The Boy is no longer in the picture.

* * *

**ranchgirlinthecity**

Peaches! Due to _huge _demand (like seriously, I can't even, you guys are the sweetest), I've decided to keep blogging.

*explosive cheering in the background*

(I can dream, can't I?)

But not on this blog. Ranch-to-City: Girl Transitions will be kept up as an…archive, of sorts, of our three-year journey together. I'll leave it here, if you dandelions ever want to reminisce, and my back-to-nature blog will be on a different Tumblr. That way, we've a divide of transition from nature and getting back to it. :)

You can find my back-to-nature blog **here**, with URL (thank you, Tumblr user lady-loki-of-asgard!) ranchgirlgotback_._

30 notes

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**A/N: Hi, everyone! It's Chrysa Lite, several years older and wiser from when I first started writing fanfiction. :) This is a Sunshine Islands fic, because I'm currently replaying it, and I thought, wouldn't it be so cute if Chelsea was a Tumblr blogger when she first moved to the islands? So, here is the brainchild of that plot bunny.**

**Just a quick clarification for those unfamiliar with Tumblr: in the part where it goes: _lady-loki-of-asgard replied to your post etc., _the italicized portion is what the other Tumblr user said, and the normal text is what Chelsea replied to it.**

**And lastly, if I accidentally used anyone's URL in here, I'm so sorry. I just thought the URLs off of the top of my head. Just message me if you want me to change the URL in the story, or if you want me to feature your URL! :)**


	2. Chapter 2

"You sure you don't need me to teach you anything?" Taro asked gruffly, holding the tools in his hands.

Chelsea smiled, already itching to get to the hoe and watering can. "I'm pretty sure, sir," she said. "I grew up on a farm – the one in Forget-Me-Not valley, actually, have you ever heard of it? …Sir."

"Forget-Me-Not Valley? You don't mean…Jack Harvest's farm?"

"That was my grandfather, sir. My mom took over it when she was just around my age, and she taught my brother and me everything she knew."

Taro's eyes warmed, and he handed over the tools and seed bags. "I see. If your mother had even half her father's talent with the land…and if she taught you that, well then there's nothing I need worry about. The farm's in your hands, child!"

"Thank you, sir!"

Once Taro left, Chelsea stared at the tools in her hands. Turned them over and over around. Then stared some more.

These were decidedly not her mom's mystrile tools.

She walked over to a clear spot in her arable land and focused very hard on the hoe in her hands, like her mom had taught her. _Hold it properly, like this, _Mom had said. _Then focus on what you want the tool to do. You're holding a hoe, so visualize the area you want it to till. If you were holding a watering can, you would visualize the water sprinkling over the ground. Okay, now – swing!_

She swung.

...and tilled the ground directly in front of her.

_Wait, what?_

"Oh, hey, Missy Harvest!"

Chelsea whirled, dropping the hoe as she did so. "Sir!"

"I just came back to say – if you've been raised in Forget-Me-Not Valley, you've probably never seen these tools before. They're Wonderful tools."

"…Sir?"

Taro took the hoe from her, and turned it upside down so they could see the underside. There was a single deep groove there, shaped like a circle.

"This is a Wonderful slot. Wonderfuls are these little stones – I think Chen sells them – that you can put in this here groove and make the tool more powerful. Here down south, it's not very settled yet, so we don't have blacksmiths. We had to give up on them copper, silver, gold, and mystrile tools. Import taxes were through the roof."

"Oh," Chelsea said, cheeks pinking. "I didn't know. I don't know about Wonderfuls, sir, I thought they were maybe…a different kind of metal, something I've never seen before."

Taro smiled kindly. "It's all right, Missy Harvest. For now, these tools are just regular tools. It's all physical with these. Can't do no magic with them."

Chelsea nodded. "Thank you, sir. I'll just be…clearing the land here then."

Taro patted her on the shoulder, then walked away. For an old man, Chelsea thought, he had a very sprightly walk. A dignified old man, he was. A good mentor.

_There is this sweet old man whom I will call The Mentor, _she thought, the next blog post already writing itself in her head.

By sundown, Chelsea had managed to clear a sizable portion of land for tilling. She hadn't used physical-only tools since she was - what, fifteen? – so it was hard, sweaty work, tilling and seeding and watering. Thank Goddess for the watering hole, though. It was deliciously cold, even under the hot spring sun, so after she'd sown and watered the eighteen turnip seeds, she stripped down and took a quick, cooling dip.

After she'd gotten out and put her clothes back on, she stood for a moment and surveyed her farm carefully.

The sticks she had cleared were piled a little away from the turnips, ready to become firewood or lumber, depending on what she'd need most. The stones were piled a little further out, and the weeds were already drying out, ready for kindling.

_You ridiculous children! _her mom cried out in her mind, after discovering a bundle of weeds in the shipping bin, put there by her twins. _Weeds aren't fit to ship, you – you – _and broke down laughing, helplessly gesturing at her husband to take over scolding their children.

A half-smile twisted Chelsea's lips as she went into her farmhouse.

* * *

The next afternoon, Chelsea's mouth was tired of saying the same words over and over again.

"Hi, I'm Chelsea, the new rancher!" she'd chirped, for over…thirty times, probably, the whole day. She'd said it to _everyone_, except for the four people she'd met yesterday. Taro, Chen, Gannon and Mirabelle. They'd be called The Mentor, The Shopkeeper, The Hulk, and Mrs. Potts on the blog, she'd decided. They might feature a lot in the upcoming posts. Maybe.

The waves were so pretty, out here near the sea. "This is Sprout Island," Gannon had growled. "My shop's here. The other one's Verdure. Yours is Ranch Island."

She sat down next to the huge rock covered in seaweed, and rested while mentally composing her first post on Ranch Girl Got Back.

_Dear seaweeds (check out this picture of the huge seaweed rock we have!), it has been a very tiring day, introducing myself to everyone…_

A person-shaped shadow fell over her, and she looked up.

"Hi, I'm Chelsea, the new rancher!" she said, mouth apparently on autopilot.

The guy was tanned, with a purple bandana wrapped around unruly brown curls, and a black bird perched on his shoulder. He also looked vaguely familiar. As Chelsea wracked her brains to remember the guy's name and job, he just grinned and held out a hand.

"I know who you are, Chelsea. You've introduced yourself before, actually – I'm Denny, the fisherman. In case you forgot."

She took his hand and hauled himself up. Work-roughened, she noticed, and felt a frisson of fear – what if he judged her because her hands weren't as rough anymore?

"I'm sorry," she said. "It's just that my mouth's on autopilot right now." Chelsea chuckled. "What's up?"

Denny straightened up and tugged at his clothes. "I was just thinking, do you like to fish?"

"I do," she said. "My mom taught me. I've missed it, living in the city."

Denny gestured to the sea. "Why not go right now?" he asked. "It would be awesome to fish with you. Think of it as getting to know you, getting to know all about you."

"Do you judge people by their fishing habits?" she joked. "I don't have a rod, sorry. I know Gannon sells them, but it's a bit out of the price range of an ex-teacher who just bought a new farm."

"Aw, that sucks. Well, you can sit on the pier and watch me fish, anyway. Wait, you were a teacher?"

"In the city, yes."

They had reached the pier and Denny whipped out his rod, casting expertly. "What did you teach?"

"Botany, mostly." She snickered. "I was – and still am – a huge plant geek. Runs in the family. The Harvests love the land."

Denny reeled in a fish. "I've heard a little of that. There's a lady farmer I met in one of the towns I used to visit, and she's a Harvest, too, or was, before she married. Had a way with the land I've never seen before."

"Was she blonde and blue-eyed?" Chelsea asked. "That would be my Aunt Claire, if it was Mineral Town."

"Yep, that would be her. Her and her kid, I watched them sow once. They had this –" Denny flicked out a tanned hand. "Like that. And the seeds went right where they tilled and not an inch farther. It was like magic."

_It was a little bit, _Chelsea almost said. But instead she said, "Yeah, the wrist flick. It's something we were all taught right along with walking. Maybe like you and the sea?" She grinned.

"Learned to swim before I could walk," Denny boasted.

Just then, the water right at Denny's line started churning. "Whoa there!" he cried out. "Move back, Chelsea! This one's a whopper!"

Chelsea watched, huge-eyed, as Denny began to reel back his line, the fish fighting all the while. "Could you – could you grab my club?" he panted, sweat running down his face. "It's just in the door of that purple-roofed house. And…could you do it fast?"

She ran flat-out down the beach, flung open Denny's door, and grabbed the club. Denny was still fighting the madly struggling fish.

"Club it!" Denny wheezed. "I'm gonna haul it up, and then you club it really hard, alright?"

"But – "

"HIYAAAAAAARGGGHHH!" he howled, and heaved the fish on the pier. Chelsea closed her eyes, and –

The sound of hard wood hitting fish flesh resounded through the beach.

Chelsea dared peek out her closed eyes.

Denny tilted his head back and yelled, "WOOOHOOO! WE DONE CAUGHT OURSELVES A BIG FAT FISH!"

The fish flopped weakly in reply.

"Omg," Chelsea said, laughing, then immediately berated herself for using chatspeak IRL. "Wait, wait, Denny! You should hold up the fish and I'll take a picture of you guys, okay?" She whipped out her phone.

Denny grinned hugely. "You should be in the picture, too!" he said. "It's – selfie, right?"

"You know what a selfie is?"

"Hey," Denny said, mock-offended, "we're islanders, not cut off from the world. We _do _have internet, you know."

Chelsea blushed. "A-alright, we'll selfie." She set the camera to selfie mode and went over to Denny. "Say fish!"

That, of course, was the moment the fish chose to make a break for it, and both Chelsea and phone fell off the pier.

* * *

A couple of minutes later, a coughing, wet, bedraggled rancher and an equally spluttering, soaked fisherman crawled onto the beach. The fish on the pier flopped weakly.

"You – rascal –" Chelsea coughed, then spat out some salt water. "Ugh. You rascally punk of a fish, you." She shook her fist at the fish, now lying still a couple of meters away. "Where do you get your kicks, endangering women like that?"

Denny threw his head back and laughed. "You wouldn't have been so endangered if you hadn't surfaced, shrieked, 'My _phone!_' and dived back in."

Chelsea hit his shoulder. "Hey, I did not _shriek_ like that!"

"You did! My _phone! _My _phone! _My _phone_!" Denny's voice went falsetto, imitating Chelsea's shriek.

"Hey, this phone is important. My mom bought me this, 'cause it was _way _out of my price range." Chelsea rubbed the screen clear, and then shook it to ascertain no weird watery sounds came from its innards. When no weird watery sounds emerged, she pressed the power button. The screen lit up, bright and clear, displaying her lock screen. "I can't believe it – its advertising was totally true! It can survive up to thirty seconds of being submerged!"

Denny rubbed the back of his head a little awkwardly. Noticing this, Chelsea looked up, eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Anyway, you didn't need to dive in. I do know how to swim."

"Are you kidding? Taro likes you. He'd have had my hide at the next island meeting if I'd let you drown."

Chelsea laughed again, and Denny joined in. Every time one tried to stop laughing, one look at the other's face set them off again, until they were literally rolling on the beach, laughing helplessly, sand sticking to their salty clothes and hair.

_And from that moment on_, Chelsea narrated in her head, _Ranchie and Bandana Boy became friends. There are some things you can't share without liking each other, and dueling a huge floppy murderous fish then falling into the sea because of its evil machinations is one of them._

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**ranchgirlgotback**

(_image_)  
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Here I am, my pretty turnips, in my gorgeous fabulous amazing _unbelievable _ranch! I just got here two days ago, and wasted no time in taking pictures of the view. It's beyond beautiful. In case your Tumblr is acting up or you're on mobile (tch, I _hate _mobile Tumblr, the images never load. It's always big gray boxes) the first big gray box is a view of my field. When I took that pic, it was full of branches and stones and weeds (not _weed, _just annoying normal weeds). And in the second big gray box, you are privy to the sight of newly-planted turnips! :)

(I may be a little too excited about my first seeding.)

There is this sweet old man whom I will call The Mentor, and he's been so helpful getting me started and everything. He actually gave me the turnip seeds pictured above. And then there's his daughter and grandkids and just – the whole island community is so kind! I went around introducing myself to everyone. A couple of people were a bit standoffish, but that's probably just their personality. I can't say I appreciate it, but then, not everyone has my sparkling personality. ;)

And, omg. By the way, this post you guys are reading is posted from a _resurrected _phone. It's survived a near death experience. Wait, let me just put this under a read more…

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**And that's chapter two, clocking in at just over 2.1k words. :) By the way, readers (I know you're there, I check traffic ;)) would you like mostly-daily posts of around 2k words, or bi/weekly posts of maybe 10k? Just that, usually, I churn out 2k words a day, but maybe you'd prefer reading 10k words in one sitting? :) Idk. Having been on hiatus for years, I don't really know how the fic game goes anymore.**

**Reviews and constructive criticism are like cheesecake to me! :)**


	3. Chapter 3

Dinner was some kind of herb salad made of the strange heart-shaped herbs Chelsea had seen around the islands, as well as some small grilled fishes. Denny had offered her a cut of the huge fish at first, but when she confessed she had no proper kitchen, being as that her things were still being shipped in from the city, he had rescinded his offer.

"This fish deserves more than being prepared in a substandard farm house," Denny had sniffed loftily. Chelsea had the idea that he was both mocking and imitating someone with his tone. "The very idea! It's simply degrading to the fish, which is sacred seafood. All food is sacred!"

Chelsea burst out laughing. Denny shot her an appreciative look, then quickly shifted his voice to Taro's. "Therefore, Missy Harvest, you're coming right along to Nick's Diner for dinner tomorrow. _He'll _prepare the fish in his –" Denny shifted his voice again, this time to a high-class drawl – "high-class kitchen, with the _finest _equipment from the most _expensive _appliance manufacturers, not that a dirty fisherman like you would ever know the difference, boy! – and then, Chels, we'll eat for free since we brought it in!"

"Is that how it works here?" a fascinated Chelsea asked. "That's…"

She didn't have words to articulate how _kind _she found it, getting a meal for free in exchange for ingredients. It would have been unheard-of in the city…but then, she reminded herself, perfectly in-character for the residents of Forget-Me-Not Valley.

The reminder of home made her smile.

Denny sent her off with a few smaller fish, after extracting a promise that she would be at Nick's Diner for dinner the following day, a promise Chelsea was all too willing to give. That night, she kindled the dry weeds and sticks, and cooked the fish over a campfire.

The herbs, Chelsea wasn't too sure about. She remembered similar herbs back home, but they certainly weren't heart-shaped. _But hey, _she thought to herself. _I've eaten plenty of herbs in my life. I'll be fine._

So she washed the herbs thoroughly and ate them with the fish, and she had to admit that they tasted just fine to her. Even so, she had a sneaking suspicion that there had to be better ways to prepare the herbs than just salad.

_Maybe Mom's orange curry…?_

* * *

**ranchgirlgotback**

Today is the third day of spring, and it couldn't feel any springier! (Yes, I am quite aware that's not _really _what that word means, but whatever! It's spring!) Today my turnips sprouted, so I'm hopeful that I'll have some turnip recipes up sooner rather than later. I can't wait to eat the fruit of my labors; or vegetables, as the case may be.

And to celebrate the springiness of this lovely spring day, have some pictures of the glorious view and a few shots of the cherry blossoms from the meadow island.

(We have an island that's just…a meadow. Like, a glorious frolicky place full of grass and flowers, just the kind of place you could imagine Snow White or Sleeping Beauty in. Apparently we go there for island meetings. For the first meeting I'll be attending, I'd like to petition to rename it Picnic Island. It's just the place for picnics!)

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This isn't really much of a post, except for me extolling the virtues of Picnic Island, but I'd just like to say that I love you all and I'm reading every single one of your messages! I'll reply to them when I have the time. Count on turnip recipes coming soon! :)

42 notes

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Spring 3rd also turned out to be the day that Chelsea's cargo finally arrived, so she spent the morning watering her turnips and clearing more of her land, then directing the workmen in placing her furniture in her new old homestead.

When they were done arranging the things to her satisfaction, she surveyed her home with a critical eye.

When she had arrived, the place only held a bed, a desk for a notebook, a telephone table, and a little table, all of which seemed like they should have fallen apart years ago. But after further inspection, everything was well and solidly made, so Chelsea had contented herself with dusting them off a little and hooking the telephone up to her own internet service provider. The place seemed like it'd been cleaned up in preparation for her, anyway. She suspected Felicia, the sweet woman. But it was still rather bare, with nothing saying, _A person lives here!_

Now that her cargo had come, everything seemed a little homier. The bed was made up with her own linens, and the walls were adorned with her family pictures and some abstract art. Her cabinet and fridge were backed up against the wall, easily accessible. She'd unpack her clothes later. Her mom's hand-me-down toolbox was there, a little worse for the wear, but still essentially a toolbox. Her little gas range was put on a shelf, with the LPG container under it. The pots and pans were still in wrappings, but she had gotten the cutlery out and would wash them all well later in the watering hole. The floor had gotten dirty and dusty due to the workmen stomping around, but a quick sweep changed that.

In short: everything was fine. It even looked great.

Except she still hadn't put up the watercolor.

Chelsea sighed, and flopped back on her bed.

_The watercolor._

The Boy – even now, she couldn't let herself think his name, just said _The Boy _all the time – The Boy had given her the watercolor two years ago, on their six-month mark. "It was a gift from my cousin," he had said. "She paints beautifully, but she's very modest and doesn't believe a word of praise. But she gave me this, when I said I had met you. I am to give it to you, with her hopes that we are happy together for a long, long time."

Then he had smiled that heartbreakingly beautiful smile, and –

_Enough, Chelsea._

Think of the watercolor. The watercolor was safer. Chelsea heaved it up out of the wrappings, and looked at it.

It was still magnificently beautiful, no matter how many times she looked at it. No, not magnificently, that was too…grand a word, somehow. It wasn't made with magnificence in mind. No – it was a sweet, gentle, wistful painting…a painting of a cherry blossom tree in bloom, the trunk artfully rendered in swirls of dark brown, just hinting at the ages the cherry blossom tree had weathered. The pink blossoms floating down on green grass, white toy flowers and yellow moon drops, completed the picture of spring. Cherry blossoms – the eternal symbol of transience.

And beyond all of that, the faintest suggestion of silvery blue and white – the wide white sea.

She had hung up the watercolor in the place of honor in her old city apartment, with the help of The Boy's superior height. And every time she saw the watercolor, it was as if her very soul had been kissed by beauty.

She'd vowed to herself and to The Boy that she'd hang it up somewhere in a place of prominence, no matter where she lived. She'd done it when she moved to a new apartment a little after their first anniversary. "I need a soul kissed by beauty every day," she had told The Boy, and he had just smiled that _heartbreaking -_

"HEY! CHELSEA!" Loud pounding on her door. "Chelsea, it's almost dinner, where are you?"

The interrupter tried the door, and found out it was unlocked. Unfortunately, it seemed like he had done the trying whilst leaning against the door, which resulted in…

…Denny falling into Chelsea's house, limbs akimbo.

"You big oaf," Chelsea chided, laughing. She put the watercolor down and hauled her friend up. "I'm here, I'm sorry. I didn't realize it was dinner already. Time doesn't seem to pass when I'm in this house. Aaaaand…you're not listening."

"Nah, I am, Chels," he said, turning back to her with a huge grin. "It's just that painting, caught me off my guard a mo'. It's beautiful! Though it would be better if there were less flowers and more sea. Where'd you get it?"

"It's perfectly lovely the way it is!" Chelsea defended it, feeling almost affronted. "And, uh…it was a gift."

Denny raised his eyebrows, then probably decided it wasn't worth pursuing. He shrugged. "It's a great painting. Were you gonna hang it up, or something?" He looked around at the refurnished house, and nodded approvingly. "Now it looks almost decent! Just hang up some turnips or potatoes or something and it'll look just like a farmer's house!"

"What do you mean, farmer's house?"

"I mean, have you _seen _my place? It's an ode to fish, baby." He winked. "And Lanna's all pink and – viniles? Vinyls? I don't know what she calls them – and Regis's house is just shouting _I'm a rich guy! _Oh, and Mirabelle's place has horseshoes and animals everywhere…"

"Enough, enough, I get it!" Chelsea laughed. "So should I hang up one of my prize turnips to prove to you that I'm a farmer?"

"Nah! You should hurry up and get to Nick's Diner, I smelled fish cooking on the way here and we gotta go now!"

* * *

They arrived breathless and sweaty, both their bandannas hanging from their necks.

"I hope you didn't kill yourselves running here," Nick chided, as he carried over a bounty of fish dishes to their table. "Hello Chelsea. I heard you clubbed this magnificent fish – " he nodded to the dishes he was holding " – into submission."

"Hey, what about me?" Denny chimed in. "_I _reeled it in!"

"Yes, yes, you're a magnificent fisherman, we know," Chelsea drawled. She caught Nick's eye, and they both laughed. "That looks really good, Nick! We'll definitely eat well."

Just then, the door of the diner banged open, and a flurry of purple and blond burst in.

"Nick! Fantastic smells have issued from your kitchen and I simply had to come over and investigate!"

"Hello, Pierre," Nick smiled. Really, Chelsea was beginning to like this guy. He was just so unflappably mild in the face of everything, even noisy fishermen and…who was this guy, anyway?

"Oh!" The purple-and-blond whirlwind noticed that there was _another_ purple-clad person in the room, and immediately drew himself up straight. "Denny! Hello!"

"Hey there, Pierre," Denny grinned. "Fantastic smells sounds about right. Sit down, won't you? You can join in our fishy feast!"

_Pierre Gourmet!_

_…Tumblr is gonna kill me later._

Pierre Gourmet. Chelsea never thought she'd be meeting him in person, never mind welcoming him with a smile to her diner table, passing him dishes cooked from a fish she'd clubbed, and talking to him _normally. _Like she hadn't reblogged his pictures about a dozen times with tags like:

_#Pierre Gourmet #actual life-ruiner #thIS FREAKING BOY #standing there with his frying pan and spatula #YOU ARE A BOY WEARING PURPLE #WAVING COOKING UTENSILS AROUND #YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED TO BE SO FREAKING ATTRACTIVE #STOP IT RIGHT THERE #this boy gives me feels #otp: purple utensils _

"…sea. Right?"

Chelsea startled into attention. "What?"

Pierre Gourmet sat there, smiling. "You're Chelsea, right? The new rancher."

"Yes, that's right," she smiled back. "I moved here two days ago. I didn't know you lived here, though - you weren't here yesterday? I thought I met everyone." Her palms were beginning to sweat, and her smile felt frozen on her face. Oh my Goddess could he tell? Keep calm, Chelsea, don't tell him you watched _It Takes Guts To Be A Gourmet _and subsequently walked out of your apartment in the pouring rain to buy copies of _Boy In Purple: Your Gourmet Guide To Everything Salad _and _Boy In Purple: Everything You Ever Needed To Know About Curry _then subsequently called in sick for a week and read and cooked almost everything in the books (and ended up _almost _broke)_._

_"_My parents called me home for a while," Pierre said. He looked a little awkward.

"Chelsea clubbed the fish that created these dishes," Nick interjected, nodding to the fish feast. Was this how Pierre Gourmet was going to remember her? A clubber? Chelsea was about to decry her feat when Pierre exclaimed, "Clubbed it? It must have been a magnificent fish, and fought most ferociously, if it needed clubbing!"

"You bet!" Denny boasted. "It must have been ugh, a couple feet long, and my rod almost broke when I tried to reel it in. I hollered for Chelsea here to grab my club, and she did, and then she just – _whapped _it. It stopped fighting after that single blow, can you believe it?"

As Pierre continued to exclaim over the 'ferocious fish' that 'donated its flesh to create such a harmony of flavors, thanks in no small part to you, Nick, and your wondrous seasonings', Chelsea's heart continued to race. _This guy is going to give me a heart attack just sitting there! _she screamed mentally. _Be still, my beating heart! _

_Wait._

_Oh my Goddess._

And her heart, as told, obligingly froze in terror as Chelsea remembered the crate of books she had yet to unpack, and the sizable stack of Gourmet cookbooks that resided within.

_Oh Goddess oh Goddess. Play it cool play it cool Ranchie, _she coached herself, and carefully turned to Pierre to begin an interesting and witty conversation about the absolutely lovely weather we're having this spring, right Pierre? that would enlighten him to her stunning personality and cause him to fall desperately in love with her and move into her house and cook her breakfast, lunch, afternoon snacks, dinner, and midnight snacks every single day.

_Shirtless._

Swoon.

Which was, of course, when a man clad in all black slouched in, and made Pierre call out, "Vaughn!"

_The – cowboy? _

"Pierre. Nick. Denny…Chelsea." The man nodded to them in turn, then took a seat all the way on the other side of the diner. "Nick, a serving of tofu, please."

"Tofu?!" Pierre was outraged. "_Just _tofu? Not tofu steak or deep-fried tofu or tofu sushi or fried tofu dumplings or –"

"Just tofu," Vaughn said, quelling any further suggestions with a single look. Pierre deflated, and Chelsea's heart panged.

_How dare that cowboy! _her inner fangirl raged. _He was just making suggestions! What kind of guy eats just tofu, anyway?!_

_Down, girl. He likes it bland. No problem with that. Maybe he's got allergies._

"That was a lot of tofu suggestions," she managed to say, amused. "I didn't even know fried tofu dumplings existed."

Pierre lit up again.

"There are a lot of ways to prepare tofu! My father developed many of the current fad tofu recipes, and – well, I added a few," he said bashfully. "I devoted an entire section in my book _Gourmet for Vegetarians _to tofu. Vaughn there just likes it bland, I suppose."

_WE THOUGHT THE SAME THING! AAAAH, MEANT TO BE!_

_…Was that the section named Tofu: Treasure Trove?_

"If I remember correctly, my editor wanted to name that section Tofu: Treasure Trove," Pierre chuckled.

"Nice alliteration there," she said, feeling her heart rate beginning to normalize. _You go girl. Enthrall like there's no tomorrow._

"…and then Chelsea fell into the water!"

"Denny!" Chelsea yelped. "Don't tell Nick _that_!"

_Or Pierre! _

"Why not?" Denny said impishly. "So Nick, I jumped right in to try to save her, but she was doing just fine saving herself. Well, she _was_, until she surfaced and then shrieked – "

"Denny, continue that story and I swear to the Goddess I will do something extremely horrible to you. I don't know exactly what but swearing to the Goddess is the most important swear ever so I will definitely hold myself to my word."

"Why?"

"…What?"

Everyone turned to Vaughn, who had been the one to question Chelsea. She rather thought he hadn't intended to ask her out loud, because he tipped the brim of his hat down to hide his eyes. (Who on earth wore hats inside, anyway? Other than people trying to be cool and kinda failing.)

(Except Vaughn didn't…seem to be failing.)

"Why?" he repeated. Apparently, since he'd asked her out loud once, he intended to do it again.

"Why what?"

He sighed, the exhalation clearly heard across the room. "Why is swearing to the Goddess the most important swear to you?"

_Duh, _he clearly did not say but thought very loudly.

"Because she's important," Chelsea said. _Duh_, she thought right back. "You don't take swears to the Goddess – or _on _the Goddess – lightly."

"Why?" he asked again.

"It just isn't done!" she said. "First of all, she is a deity with magical power so when you swear on her, you're taking the risk that if you don't do what you swore, she'll discipline you. And second, she's respected. You don't renege on promises you made to someone important and respected. I mean –" and inspiration struck her, "What if you promised, um…Mirabelle or someone that you'd bring in animals on a certain day, but you didn't? She'd discipline you, wouldn't she? And you'd be in trouble with her, won't you?"

"But she's my boss," Vaughn argued right back. The diner had fallen silent. Pierre was staring at the back-and-forth between the two, enthralled. Denny had put down his fork, where bit of fish was still speared. "She's my boss, so I have an obligation to fulfill my promise. If she's dissatisfied, I don't get my wages."

"And if we offend her, our crops fail," Chelsea responded. "The harvest withers on the vine. The fish don't lay and don't school." Denny made a pained noise. "She's basically our boss. So if we don't do what we said we'd do, swearing on her name, then we don't get our wages. Worse, actually – we starve."

"That goes for farmers. But what about the rest of humanity that doesn't actually _need _the Harvest Goddess?"

"Who _doesn't _need the farmers?" Chelsea shot back. "Animals can't survive without feed, can they? The chickens can't survive without corn, the cows and sheep can't do without fodder. The shipping business is primarily food transportation, which is – wow, _crops. _Even in the big cities, people rely on the harvest from Mineral Town, Forget-Me-Not Valley, Flowerbud Village, Bluebell and Konohana…and eventually, I hope, the Sunshine Islands. Otherwise, what would they eat? iPhones? Those aren't _real _apples. Farmers are thought of as the bottom of the food chain, but what we are, are the producers. Once we're affected, everyone from the bottom up is affected."

Chelsea sat back, out of breath, and gulped some water. Avoiding everyone's eyes on her, she speared some fish and resumed eating, pausing only to compliment Nick, "This is amazing, Nick. I had no idea the fish I clubbed would taste this good."

"Aha…ha. Um, yes." Nick seemed to be breaking out of a spell, or a trance. "If you or Denny ever get such a fish again, just come on over here! It's made a veritable feast, as you can see."

"We do see," Chelsea smiled sincerely. Slowly, everyone else seemed to be breaking out of a time-stop spell. Denny resumed eating, interspersing his bites with, "Wow! This is really good!" and "Sweet Sedna, this is the best fish I ever ate." Pierre continued in the same vein, praising Nick's 'consistency' and 'seasoning'.

Chelsea tried to get back into her silently-fangirling mode, but she'd lost her taste for it. Instead, she was seething inside, thinking of ungrateful people who forgot the Goddess, and the way her mother knelt on the shore of a pond, setting a basket of flowers and strawberries afloat, praying earnestly.

Green hair and green eyes, trailing tears down cheeks – _I am so sorry, Jill. I am so sorry. I wish I could. I wish I had the power. I wish anything or anyone at all in the world had the power._

"I'm heading home," she said abruptly. Everyone looked up at her, except for the brooding cowboy in the corner. "It's a bit late, and I have some unpacking to do. Thank you for the meal, Nick. Thank you for inviting me, Denny. Pierre, it's been a pleasure."

She smiled at each of them in turn, and was gratified to see Nick smiling and hear Denny saying, "No problem at all, Chels! We should go fishing when you have a proper rod."

Pierre smiled at her, and shook her hand with both of his. "I would really like to get to know you better," he said earnestly. "Come over to my house sometime, okay? We'll create a glorious medley of flavors together!"

Across the room, Chelsea vaguely heard the clink of something metal stabbed into a plastic porcelain plate. But she dismissed it immediately, smiling and blushing and assuring Pierre that she'd hang out with him soon.

When she finally got home, the first thing she laid eyes on was the watercolor, lying discarded on her bed.

"Ugh, whatever," she muttered, and pushed a tack into the wall, in her house's place of honor. Finding the hook by which the watercolor could be hung, she dragged a stool across and hung the painting.

"Who cares about The Boy, anyway," she said out loud, admiring the splashes of color in the painting. "I met _Pierre Gourmet _today. _Pierre Gourmet _asked me to create a glorious medley of flavors with him. I think that beats any old Boy, any day."

She pointedly refused to think of annoying cowboys who wore _all black in spring, _and chose instead to crawl into bed, freshly made with her own linens. She fell asleep immediately.

* * *

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...

**3.5k. Apparently, fangirl!Chelsea and Goddess!defending!Chelsea have a hold on my brain and make me type more than I ever set out to. It's so weird - I was having so much trouble writing the first part, and then I broke into the diner scene and everything just flowed out.**

**The tagging thing that Chelsea did? Totally a thing with Tumblr users. I've engaged in it a time or two ;)**

**There's a poll now up on my profile, to see who you guys ship Chelsea with. I can't promise that the poll winner will be Chelsea's endgame, but it'll be useful knowing who you guys want Chelsea to be with! **

**Elliot fans, he'll have a scene coming along soonish, just wait.**

**I ship me and reviews, with guest appearances of constructive criticism. :)**


	4. Chapter 4

**ranchgirlgotback**

Have you ever noticed that sometimes, you think or say a word, and then the people around you start saying the word, and then there all of you are, overusing the word? I had that experience with the word 'magnificent' a couple of days ago. I didn't even mean to think it – it was just a random word – and then the guy who runs the diner here on The Archipelago said it about the fish Bandana Boy and I caught (more on that **here**), and then another guy used it, and then _oh my Goddess…_

Is it totally by coincidence that I met a guy who is the poster boy for magnificent, the day I started using magnificent? Corn kernels, he has the most magnificent eyes. And actually, bone structure as well. His face is like an aristocrat's from, like, fifty years ago. His hotness is _timeless_. And even calling him hot feels wrong, because he's just so aristocratic-looking and _noble _and just, tomato seeds, he's not hot, he's absolutely magnificent.

Sigh.

…But anyway, magnificent boys aside, I promised in the last post that you shall have recipes, and today, recipes you shall have!

Usually, around this time of year I post strawberry recipes. It's something my mom used to do, make strawberry things during early spring. But since The Archipelago hasn't grown strawberries yet (the resident Ranchie can't seem to find seeds for them), we'll have turnip recipes instead! :)

_Pickled turnips _are great in sandwiches, different kinds of curry, or in an easy-to-reach jar to munch on while you work (not that I'm doing that right now…nuh-uh…). All you'll need are some peeled turnips, a few jars, salt, sugar, vinegar, and, optionally, some beet slices if you want the turnips to be dyed pink.

Okay, so for step one…

**Read More**

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surreptitious-lady reblogged this

inksplashed-heart reblogged this

mess-of-a-dreamer reblogged this and added: I heard there's a variety of turnips that are actually naturally pink, but I had no idea you could dye regular turnips pink with beet juice! Genius!

brouhahahaha reblogged this from mess-of-a-dreamer and added: History lesson! There are turnips that are naturally pink, originating in the country of Norad. Legend has it they were bred by a girl with a pure heart who wanted to 'transcend' normal white turnips, and was thus inspired by the gods, creating pink turnips.

* * *

**ranchgirlgotback**

**_surreptitious-lady _**_asked:  
Chaps and cooking? Ooooh, Ranchie, someone's inspired!_

Hardly! …Well, maybe just a teeny tiny teensy weensy ittle wittle bit. ;)

**_inksplashed-heart _**_asked:_

_Breaking news! Has Ranch Girl's heart been stolen? Is she ready to move on from The Boy?_

Stolen hearts are for my mom and dad. Hahaha! Right now, I'm not sure. I'd like to breathe for a while. I don't think I'm ready for the complexities of a new relationship.

**_anonymous _**_asked:_

_Will you marry me?_

I'm an old-fashioned gal. Only if you bring me a dowry of eight cows. ;)

* * *

The eighth of spring dawned bright and beautiful, sunshine dancing on the waves with merry, light feet. The grass was bright, also, as if tiny elves had crept out into the night and strewn equally tiny diamonds among the grass, instead of dewdrops. The newly sown turnips and potatoes had sprung up from the good earth, moon drops and toy flowers dotted the landscape, and the birds were singing high and bright, clear notes soaring to the blue blue sky.

Chelsea, waking up to the sight, felt her heart fill with an awed reverence.

"Happy birthday, beloved Goddess," she whispered. "The world celebrates with you."

At home, in Forget-Me-Not Valley, the eighth of spring was fully devoted to strawberry-themed food. Chelsea had fond childhood memories of pancakes topped with strawberries and strawberry milk for breakfast, then fruit sandwiches with strawberry slices or bread slathered with strawberry jam for lunch, then strawberry candy to munch on for afternoon snacks, then strawberry ice cream for after-dinner dessert…

Had the Harvest family not been…well, the Harvest family, they would have paid through the nose every year just to get strawberries that early in spring. The strawberries would have to be imported from Norad, which was the only place on earth that grew strawberries year-round. But since they _were _the Harvest family, they simply plucked abundances of strawberries off the bushes on Carisi Farm, and spent the seventh of spring preparing them for the next day's feast.

Normally, strawberry bushes did not bear fruit that early. But the bushes on Carisi Farm had been planted by Jack Harvest years and years ago, and had sprouted with water from the Goddess Pond clinging to its newly-unfurled leaves. Those bushes bore fruit on the seventh of spring every year without fail, and had done so since the spring they were planted.

But Chelsea didn't have strawberries on hand this year, and she felt the loss most keenly when she sat down to breakfast. As she bit into a pickled-turnip sandwich, not even the taste of her own homemade pickles could drive away the images of her mother and brother eating pancakes topped with strawberries, and toasting with Mom's strawberry milk.

It was all she could do not to cry.

"Pull yourself together, Chelsea!" she muttered to herself, as the first tear splashed down. "Oh, damn, there it goes. I'll just cry five tears and then I'll stop. Two…three…four…five…Goddess, Chelsea_, _stop crying! Six…seven…eight…oh, it's no use, they'll just keep coming. I miss Forget-Me-Not Valley! I miss home…and Mom…and Mark…and the strawberry bushes…and Elaena and all the kittens and Pongo and the puppies and I miss Bessy and Moonica and the calves and Woollette and Vanilla and…ugh, Chelsea, pull yourself together!"

But it really was no use. Chelsea laid her head down on the tabletop and wept until she was wrung dry.

"There, you've had a good cry," she told herself. "Now pick yourself up and go to work. You planted new turnips and potatoes two days ago, and they need watering."

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, as if fortifying herself against the weight of the world, she pulled out her watering can and marched out the door.

"Ouch! That really hurts!" a tiny voice yelped.

"Dear Goddess! What was that?" Chelsea gasped, looking around wildly. There was nobody there – she was the only one on Ranch Island!

"Could you do me a huge favor and move back a little!" the tiny voice begged.

Still wildly looking around, Chelsea nonetheless obliged and stepped back.

"_Oh_!" she gasped. "A Harvest Sprite!"

The little red Harvest Sprite, doubled over and panting for air, found the energy to wave a tiny hand at Chelsea.

"Hi there! I thought – " the sprite paused to breathe " – I'd hide to surprise you, but I hid so well you stepped on me!"

Chelsea knelt down. "I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to. I'm Chelsea. I ranch here." She extended a finger to shake with the sprite.

The sprite looked pleased as he took the finger in both hands and shook it firmly. "Hi, I'm Coral! I hope we can be friends."

"I hope so, too," Chelsea smiled. "Your vest and hat are very fetching, by the way."

"Thanks!" the sprite beamed. "Primrose made them." Then he – Chelsea decided he was a he – cleared his throat very importantly and launched into a Very Important Speech.

"Hello, Chelsea! I'm not sure if you're aware, but you are a neighbor to Harvest Sprite Island!"

"An _island_?" Chelsea asked. "I only know of Lighthouse Island, to the east of here."

"Of course! Harvest Sprite Island is hidden by magic to all the islanders. But you, Chelsea – you're special, and we're very interested in you! That's why all of the sprites have agreed! You're allowed to come to our island, and make friends with all the other Harvest Sprites!"

"Wow!"

"There's a bridge to the west of your farm. You can come over whenever you want." Then the Very Important Voice changed, and Coral beamed. "So I hope you come over lots! You're the only human any of us have talked to in a really long time, you know."

"I'd love to come over," Chelsea said decidedly. "Can I come over after I finish watering my crops?"

"All right!" Coral cheered. "We'll be waiting!"

* * *

If the turnips and potatoes could speak, they would be able to testify that none of them had ever received such a hurried watering as that spring morning. Chelsea rushed through the sprinkling with a speed she didn't know she possessed, and ran to the west side of her ranch the moment the last potato seed got a splash of water.

Before her very eyes, a bridge made of – leaves? Lily pads? – that simply _wasn't there before _shimmered into existence. Gingerly, she stepped on the bridge, and was relieved when it seemed to hold her weight. She walked on a little ways, and then the world _squeezed._

"Dear Goddess!" she yelped, as forces beyond her comprehension tried to squeeze a very big human through a very small tube. Her whole body felt like it was being compressed; her thighs and calves pressed together without her say-so; her arms were forced to her sides; she could barely gasp for air –

– and then everything twisted, and she was falling to her knees on green ground and coughing her lungs out.

"Chelsea!" a disproportionately cheerful voice exclaimed. "You're here! Let me introduce you to everybody."

Chelsea's eyes were watering. "Can you give me a moment, please," she managed to gasp out, and took several deep, deep breaths. Air, blessed air. Nobody ever knew how much it was necessary until it was gone, taken from you and no matter how hard you sucked in, no matter how you gasped and scrabbled and wheezed for air air _air –_

"Chelsea? Are – are you alright?"

She looked down into the face of a tiny yellow-clothed sprite. "Well, hello there," she smiled. "Yes, I am now. What's your name?"

"I'm Primrose!" the sprite said. "And this is Cinnabar, and Matcha, and El, and Seiran, and Wisteria!"

As the pretty sprite said the names, she gestured towards sprites dressed in orange, green, blue, indigo, and violet. Each waved in reply.

"It's nice to meet you," Chelsea said, and held out a finger for them to shake.

Coral said, "Chelsea's here! Now we have a friend!"

The sprites cheered, and magic sparkled in the air in response to their glee.

"And friends help each other! So we'll help you, Chelsea! We Sprites have different kinds of magic. Yellow sprites have land magic, orange sprites have animal magic, green sprites have number magic, blue sprites have volcano magic, violet sprites have water magic, and indigo sprites have heart magic. We've all promised to use our magic to help you, Chelsea!"

"That's so cool," Chelsea said, still kneeling. She leaned back on her haunches. "But what's your magic, Coral?"

"Organization magic," all the sprites chorused.

Chelsea stifled a laugh.

"Anyway, I'm very much obliged to you for your offer of help," Chelsea said. Before she could continue, though, the sprite known as Seiran piped up.

"But enchanting is tiring! So we need a rest period!"

"Y-y-yes," Wisteria stammered. "W-what if w-we over-overwork our ma-ma-magic?"

Coral considered a moment.

"Then we'll have a nap in between!" he declared. "That way, we won't be tired at all!"

"Sprites can get tired?" Chelsea wondered aloud.

"Oh, yes," Coral said. His voice changed, became less peppy and more sad. "Sprites have loads of magic, you know, Chelsea, but it's possible to overuse the magic if the sprite doesn't have a goddess."

"No…goddess?"

"The Sunshine Islands doesn't have a Goddess Pond, Chelsea," El pointed out. "Where do you think a goddess could live? She only ever lives in ponds."

And that, Chelsea realized, was the crux of the matter.

Harvest Sprites were the aides of the Harvest Goddess in doing her duty and guarding the land. They worked together to make a land prosperous and abundant. Mineral Town, Forget-Me-Not Valley…those lands overflowed with beauty because the sprites and the Harvest Goddess in those areas worked together. The Harvest Goddess had a sworn duty to do, and sprites were never happy bored. They liked work, liked helping their goddess. They were born to help the Harvest Goddess make things grow.

So what happened to sprites who didn't have a goddess?

_No wonder they sought me out, _Chelsea thought. _They must have been going crazy with loneliness._

Aloud, she said, "Anyway, thank you so much for your offer of help. If it's not too much trouble…I'd love to accept your offer."

The sprites cheered, and magic sparkled in the air again. And in that sparkle, Chelsea fancied she read something…

…something very much like renewed hope.

* * *

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**Hi! I am so so so sorry for the late update. I was in Manila for the week and was so caught up with catching up with my extended family that I missed several update days. Never mind - I'm working on chapter 5 as we speak and you may even get it today! :)**

**Thank you so much, Cotton Candy Mareep and ScipioPB, for your lovely reviews. I appreciated and blushed over every single line of your reviews - I just can't really reply to them because I don't have much time since I've started teaching summer classes. But thank you so much. :)**

**New readers, please go check out the poll on my profile. :)**


	5. Chapter 5

"Mommy, how are Harvest Sprites made?"

Mommy looked at Chelsea and Mark, and stood up from the tomatoes she'd been kneeling over.

"Well," Mommy began thoughtfully, as she started putting her tools away, "I could tell you the short version, but I bet you'd just keep asking why and I'd have to start at the beginning anyway. So I guess it all started with the Old Gods. Do you know about the Old Gods, my babies?"

"No, Mommy."

"A long, long time ago, the universe was created by the Old Gods. They were large and powerful and unknowable, and nobody knows their names. All we know about them is that they were so great, they shaped the earth and all the mountains and all the oceans and everything in between, and that they hung the stars and the moon and lit the fire of the sun. And then, when they had lit the sun, they made the whole world grow forests and grasses and flowers and all the crops you could ever think of."

"Wow," Mark breathed, green eyes wide.

"And then when everything was finished – the moon and the stars and the sun and the whole big big earth – they said, 'Someone must rule this world.'

"So they created humans.

"And then, they put the humans on the earth. But they were silly creatures, Chelly, Marky! They didn't know how to farm, or fish, or anything. The Old Gods felt pity for their creations. So they said, 'Let us make a guide and protector for these silly creatures.'

"So they made the Harvest Goddess.

"And the Harvest Goddess taught the humans how to farm and fish and how to make houses, and so on. And because of that, they loved the Harvest Goddess, because she helped them to live. But eventually the Harvest Goddess grew tired, because there were so many humans and only one of her. So she asked the Old Gods, 'May I have a helper?'

"And the Old Gods said, 'You will have a multitude.' "

"Mommy, what's a multitude?"

"It means a whole lot of something."

"Okay, thank you."

"So the Old Gods made the Harvest Goddess come closer, and they taught her the recipe of how to make life. But because the Old Gods didn't want the goddess to go around making humans, they taught her a different, less powerful version – of how to make Harvest Sprites."

Mark knit his brows together. "So Harvest Sprites are little humans?"

"Not exactly, Marky. Remember, it was a different version."

Chelsea thought very very hard. "So it's like…it's like curry? Ultimate curry is the same as red curry, but it's also different, because ultimate curry takes Daddy forever to make, while red curry is really really easy?"

Mommy started clapping. "That's my girl!"

"So what happened then, Mommy?"

"So the goddess made the little sprites."

"The red curry?"

"Yes, sweetie, the red curry. But she also added some ingredients that humans didn't have. She gave them some of her own magic, so that they could help her guide and protect the humans. The sprites can use magic, as long as she's around."

"What happens when she's not around?"

Mommy's voice grew very very scary, but not angry scary, but scary sad and something that sounded like when Chelsea found out that Mark didn't save any pudding for her and there was an achy feeling in her chest.

"The land hurts for her, and the sprites do too. Let's hope it never happens again – or, if it ever does, there will be a hero to save her and the whole land."

* * *

"Oh no! Oh no!"

Chelsea jolted awake. "Huh? What?"

Taro burst in the door, waving his cane and shouting. "It's terrible, Chelsea! Hurry to the meadow!"

"Huh? What?"

He rushed out the door, shouting, "We'll be waiting! Hurry up, Chelsea!"

"…What?"

Coral manifested in a swirl of sparkle. He was panting and breathless, red magic sparking off of him. "Hurry, Chelsea! You should follow Taro! You need to get to the meadow right now!"

And all that Chelsea's sleep-addled mind could produce was, "You mean…Picnic Island?"

Coral huffed. "Let's go!"

Holding on to Chelsea's knee, he swirled his red magic around and _yanked –_

– and Chelsea felt herself slam into grassy, earthy ground that was distinctly _not _her farmhouse floor.

"I awoke this morning with the strangest feeling that I should come to the meadow," Regis's voice said. "It seems I was not the only one either. How very curious."

"This is all very strange," Chen agreed. "I am not sure if we should be worried."

Chelsea lay slumped on the ground, letting the noise wash over her as she tried to regain her bearings. Grass. Earth. Regis's and Chen's voices…

"Where am I?" she muttered, not really expecting a response.

"You're on Meadow Island, Chelsea," Coral whispered in her ear. Chelsea jerked in surprise. "I'm invisible right now, so nobody can see me."

"Coral! What you did really hurt!"

"Oh – I'm so sorry." Coral's voice wobbled. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I forgot that sprite magic hurts humans if we don't modify it. It's been so long…Did the pathway to Harvest Sprite Island hurt you too?"

Chelsea nodded a little, and began to try to sit up.

"Go slowly," Coral coached. "Oh, I wish some of the Forget-Me-Not healing department were here. But anyway, we're on Meadow Island, and everyone else is here, too."

"The other sprites?"

"Hiding, but here."

Slowly, Chelsea stood up. Her bones ached, both from the fall and from all the hard work she'd done yesterday. She needed to make up for slacking off the whole eighth of spring with the sprites, after all.

It seemed like all the islanders were on Meadow Island, (_Picnic Island_, her mind stubbornly insisted) and everyone was _talking._

"…lived here for a while, but I never felt anything like I did this morning," Gannon's distinctive voice boomed.

"I think the islands are trying to talk to us!"

"The island must have told everyone to come here! Do you know why it would do that?"

"…sounds like everyone heard something telling them to come…"

"…do you think is going on?"

Chelsea approached Taro, who was standing close to Felicia and Mirabelle. "Taro, what's going on?" she asked.

"Everyone woke up this morning feeling like they needed to go to the meadow," Taro responded. "And when we did…well. I heard a voice coming from the shrine. I got a feeling it be tangled up in all of this." Taro's eyes sharpened. "Did you hear a voice telling you to come to the meadow, Chelsea?"

Chelsea shook her head. "No, I was dreaming, I – my mother, and Harvest Sprites…"

She stopped short. The dream, unlike other dreams she'd had in her life, wasn't fading around the edges as she fought her way to wakefulness. In fact, that hadn't been a dream at all…

"It was a memory," she whispered to herself.

Chelsea and Mark had never known their Grandpa Jack, as he had died before they were born, but they knew that he had seen the Witch Princess and the Harvest Goddess in a fight, and the Witch Princess had turned the goddess into stone by accident, then sent her away into a different world. Then her hundred and one Harvest Sprites had turned on the Witch Princess, demanding the return of their goddess, and panicking, she had sent them into the other dimension as well, to find her. Grandpa Jack had dedicated his life to finding the hundred and one sprites and the goddess, but he had only been able to bring back sixty-one sprites and the goddess. He died before he could find the rest.

Mommy had taken up the mantle, and their whole lives Chelsea and Mark had been around Harvest Sprites. They had been playmates with the sprites, especially Jum and Tep and Hops, who knew the _best _card games. Baby Sprite had been weird, but kind of fun too.

Then one day when Chelsea and Mark were six, they had decided to ask Guts how Harvest Sprites were made. But he hemmed and hawed and wouldn't give them a straight answer, so they asked Mommy instead.

_What happens when she's not around?_

_The land hurts for her, and the sprites do too. Let's hope it never happens again – or, if it ever does, there will be a hero to save her and the whole land._

"Anyway," Taro said, startling her out of her reverie, "there's a voice coming from the shrine. I took a gander at it, but there ain't nothing that I can see. Maybe your young eyes will be able to see something these old ones can't."

"Go up to the shrine," Coral whispered. Had he been standing on her shoulder the whole time? "Just go, Chelsea. I promise everything will be explained once you get there."

Chelsea started up the path to the shrine, feeling magic crackle against her skin as she did so. It was like she was touching static every few steps; everything seemed unnaturally bright, and the sparkle she had come to associate with sprite magic covered the entire shrine.

But there was something else, too…something distinctly not sprite magic…

"Please…restore the islands…"

Chelsea jumped. "What on earth was that?!" Behind her, all the islanders were exclaiming in shock.

The world flashed blindingly white for a moment, and when it cleared, another red Harvest Sprite stood in front of her.

"Hello, Chelsea," the sprite said.

"Hello there," Chelsea replied, and decided it couldn't hurt to be polite. She held out a finger for the sprite to shake. "Were you the one talking? The voice from the shrine and all that?"

The sprite's eyes widened. "No! Oh, no, no! That was the voice of the islands, Chelsea. I'm only Agete, the sprite of the meadow."

"The voice…of the islands?"

Coral popped into existence, and started to talk in his Very Important Voice.

"Long, long ago, Chelsea, a huge earthquake struck the Sunshine Islands. Many of the islands sank deep beneath the waves…including the island where the goddess of Sunshine Islands made her home."

"So that's why the islands have no goddess," Chelsea realized.

Coral's tiny face looked immensely sad. "This was such a long time ago, Chelsea. During our parents' times. We – " he indicated Agete and himself " – grew up on Harvest Sprite Island, without a goddess to serve. Our parents kept telling us that a hero would come, that the islands would rise, and we would have a goddess again. Our parents built the shrine there in memory of those islands, and in the hope that someday we would get our goddess back."

"But the island where she lives has sunk," Chelsea said. "How is it going to be raised?"

Agete brightened up. "See, this is where the voice of the islands come in!

"The islands have always had a voice, Chelsea, but since they sank, they haven't had the power. There was just something they needed to speak that wasn't there before."

"But then you came, Chelsea," Coral said. "You came here, and suddenly we sprites could feel the islands shifting, gaining strength. We invited you to Harvest Sprite Island because we wanted to know if it was really you that made the islands respond. And it was."

"I thought – you needed a friend," Chelsea said faintly.

"We did!" Coral cried out. "We really do," he said, very softly.

"And then today, the islands gained enough strength to speak," Agete barreled on. "They called all the islanders here, and you, too. And the sprites. And the islands told us sprites something."

"What is it?"

"There are certain stones scattered all over the world, that have great magic," Agete said. His hands were sparking red magic, he was so excited. "Stones that are left over from when the Old Gods lit the sun. These stones are so magically powerful, that if we gather enough of them, even we weak sprites can gather up their power and use it to raise the islands!"

"And get our goddess back!" Coral added.

"And get the goddess back," Chelsea murmured. She smiled at the two sprites.

"I'm in."

* * *

Of course, it wasn't exactly simple.

Taro hobbled over to the shrine, demanding to know what Chelsea had learned and what that blinding flash of white had been. "And are those sprites? Are sprites hiding from me now?" he had barked. "All my life I've served the goddess and the land, and now sprites are hiding from me. Dear Goddess, what's the world coming to? So many offerings set afloat in the pond, and gifts of flour to the sprites, and now they're hiding?" Taro had muttered so much and so furiously that he shamed the sprites into appearing, and apologizing for hiding.

"We didn't know how humans would take us," Agete excused. "We haven't talked to humans…I mean, not our generation, not really. Our parents used to, but they hid and grieved after the islands sunk."

And of course that warranted an explanation, of why the islands sunk, and why its voice was appearing once again, and how they could be raised. Taro merely raised an eyebrow when Coral skated delicately over _why _the voice was appearing just now, when the islands had been settled for a decade.

"You don't have to pretend Missy Harvest ain't special," he had snorted. "I know full well. I've got _eyes_. Being old doesn't mean they've fallen out of my head, hey!"

And then, of course, once they mentioned Sun Stones, Taro pulled one right out of his pocket and baldly asked, "Is this one of them stones?"

"That's it!" Agete shrieked. "That's a Sun Stone!"

It did indeed look like a Sun Stone. Shaped rather like a child's rendition of the sun, an orange circle with several orange spikes representing rays, it nevertheless radiated such an an aura of magic and power that Chelsea unconsciously shuddered when she touched it.

_Left over from when the sun was lit is right_, she thought to herself. _It feels like a furnace to touch, but it doesn't burn my hand. It's just very, very hot._

She toyed with the idea of making Sun Stones her own personal hot stone body massage, but had to scrap the idea when she saw Coral start to cry.

"We're one step closer," the sprite sobbed. "One step closer to the goddess. Chelsea!" He sniffled, and tilted his face up so that Chelsea could see his watery eyes and reddened nose. His entire posture was pleading. "Please promise me you'll work your absolute hardest to bring the Mystic Islands back up!"

And what else could Chelsea do but promise that "It'll be the first island I ask Agete to raise"?

* * *

_I have to find Sun Stones so I can raise the sunken islands._

It was afternoon, the sun just midway from noon and sunset, and Chelsea sat on a rock on her ranch, contemplating Sun Stones.

It was a big rock. A nice rock, really. Smooth and warmed from the sun's heat, soothing to her sore back. Her back was always sore nowadays – bending over weeds, swinging down the axe to chop up lumber, hammering away at rocks. Chelsea leaned back on it and thought.

_Grandpa Jack had a quest, _she thought. _To save the goddess of Forget-Me-Not Valley from the place where the Witch Princess banished her. And he succeeded._

_Mom had a quest, too. To save the sprites that Grandpa Jack didn't save. The last time I was home, she was missing only five sprites. She's slowed down a little since…yes...but I'm sure she managed to get the last five or is close to that, anyway._

_Aunt Claire did like Grandpa Jack, and transformed a run-down nothing into an amazing farm by the time she was twenty-eight. Most farmers couldn't even claim to have done that by fifty, and she did it before thirty. _

_Now I have a quest, too._

_…What if I fail?_

And that, really, was the crux of the matter.

What if she failed in her quest?

Chelsea knew Grandpa Jack started out with absolutely nothing, and managed to build up Carisi Farm into a big, flourishing farm, all in aid of his quest for the goddess. It must have been so impossibly difficult, farming a land without the goddess's aid…the land wouldn't have the magic it had when the goddess was around. There was no blessing of the harvest. There was no guaranteed safety of the crop. Grandpa Jack had _nothing_, yet he made that nothing into something huge and successful and grand.

Mom took over the farm when Aunt Claire ran away to the city and broke Grandpa Jack's heart, and kept on going through all of life's troubles. While the valley folk were being robbed by the Phantom Thief, she stood at her farm entrance with a sword in hand and her fierce dog growling at any intruder. She fearlessly left precious jewelries and ores and gems in her shipping box overnight, knowing that no thief would ever dare cross the border of Carisi Farm. She took her father's farm from a flourishing farm to a fabulously wealthy ranch, and saved many, many sprite lives in the process.

Aunt Claire ran away to the city before realizing city life wasn't for her – and instead of going home, went to Mineral Town to make something of herself. She bought the old farm that had been rotting away for ages there, and in the course of three years, made it just as good as her own father's farm. She fearlessly plumbed the deepest depths of the mountain mines, talked face-to-face with the legendary Kappa, and gained access to the Kappa's jealously guarded lake mine. Aunt Claire was amazing.

And now Chelsea held in her hands a quest equal to any of her family members' own, and she was afraid.

_You are a Harvest_, the depths of her mind said. _The blood of Jack Harvest, Jill Harvest, Claire Harvest runs through your veins. Why are you so afraid?_

_What if I am not like them? What if I fail in this quest?_

_You barely have one Sun Stone in your hand, and you fear? Chelsea, I thought better of you than that._

_But what if I fail to find more? What if I break my promise to Coral? What if I never find the goddess of the Sunshine Islands?_

_What if, what if, what if. All you are saying are hypotheticals. You haven't even started finding anything yet._

_…You're right, brain. _Chelsea heaved a deep, deep sigh, and peeled herself off the rock. "Man, this is a good rock," she said, patting the smooth surface. "My back feels better."

_I bet it would feel better if you took a bath in the watering hole._

_In cold water? That spring always runs cold, and you know it._

_Just try it._

Chelsea shrugged and stripped down, lowering herself into the watering hole.

"Oh!" she gasped. "It's warm!"

More than warm, actually – quite hot, but not scorching. Confused yet delighted, Chelsea luxuriated in the feel of a warm bath, kicking her feet a little as she felt her muscles release all the tension they had gathered during the past weeks.

She began to lose herself in the heat, her eyes fluttering shut as her entire body relaxed…

Minutes – hours – weeks? – later, she awoke to find the sun beginning to set, wide swathes of orange and yellow and purple and pink streaking the sky. She hurriedly gathered up her clothes and made a dash to her farm house to dress decently.

_Wait a minute. Why was the water so hot?_

Chelsea dressed quickly, then ran back to the watering hole. She dipped her hand in.

It was still hot.

But _why_?

Out of nowhere, an image flashed in her mind: the Sun Stone Taro had handed her, earlier, and a memory of a thought: _It feels like a furnace to touch…_

She ran her hands around the inside of the watering hole, feeling for any unusual heat. She didn't find anything, but she found out that the water was cooler to the edge further from the water mill.

She walked towards the water mill, and started feeling around –

– there!

She pulled a second Sun Stone from a crevice in the water mill, dripping with water and shining in the light of the brilliant sunset.

Involuntarily, a huge smile stole upon her face.

_I told you._ Her mind sounded amused, with laughter like tinkling bells. _You are a Harvest, Chelsea. Honor the name._

* * *

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**And the plot of Sunshine Islands finally begins. I always found it a little slow to start, no matter how many playthroughs, which makes this fic a bit slow to start, also, I think.**

**Anyway, to make up for my lack of updates last week, have ANOTHER chapter of some 3.4k words of flashbacks/universe mythos/PLOT!/backstory. ;)**

**Shippy stuff really should be coming up soon. I had it planned for this chapter, but sprites and flashbacks and mythos ate my brain.**

**It's 2am but I'm buzzed. Oh, Happy Father's Day to you guys, or at least to those who celebrate it! :) **

**(Apropos of nothing at all, I got a new phone today/yesterday. KYAAAAA. Celebrate with me, readers!)**

**Reviews are cheesecake to me!**


	6. Chapter 6: Slice of Blog

ranchgirlgotback . tumblr . com

_back to nature_

Rancher girl, twenty-one. A little forget-me-not planted in a sunny island. New blog of ranchgirlinthecity. ;)

**rancher recipes  
rancher diys  
rancher photography  
rancher ramblings  
rancher interview**

* * *

**ranchgirlgotback**

Hello, cherry salmons! Guess who just got a fishing rod!

_(image: A thumbs-up next to a fishing rod lying on a beach, with someone beyond the frame waving a blurry purple streak)_

_This Ranch Girl_! And although I am perfectly capable of fishing, Bandana Boy insisted on dragging me out to Picnic Island (still Meadow Island, technically, but the my first islanders' meeting is coming up soon!) and teaching me how to fish.

It went rather spectacularly.

Bandana Boy: Ranchie, how on _earth _did you survive all these years with that awful throwing technique?

Ranch Girl: _Awful?! _Are you kidding me! This is the technique that won several fishing contests back home, when I was younger!

Bandana Boy: Bet you were competing against small fry.

Ranchie: _(thinks back on her peers back home, specifically the spoiled rich kid) _Did not!

Bandana Boy: Did too!

Ranchie: Ugh. Let's settle this with a contest. Whoever gets the biggest fish in one hour, wins!

Bandana Boy: Game if you are.

Ranchie: Game if _you _are.

Bandana Boy: Ready…

Ranchie: Get set…

Both: GO!

And we both hurled our lines into the water.

Flash forward to an hour after…

…and we had both caught six fishes, and were staring at our respective buckets.

Bandana Boy: Are you _kidding me._

Ranchie: I wish I were.

There in the bucket, my friends, were two fish that were sized fifty-three centimeters. One that I had caught, and the other, Bandana Boy had caught.

Perfect-freaking-tie.

People on The Archipelago will tell you that we bickered loudly all the way back to the mainland, arguing whose fish was larger. _Do not believe them. _We quietly and maturely, like quiet and mature adults, divided up our catches, with me shipping some of them, and he giving some to Diner Guy so we could have something to eat for free tomorrow.

We then quietly and maturely proceeded to my ranch, where we quietly and maturely grilled the rest of the fish over a campfire and had a very quiet and mature discussion on the stars and constellations.

…That in no way resembled Bandana Boy shouting, _"What do you mean that's not it? _Those stars there – and a few stars over there – _obviously _resemble a fishing rod!"

"Everything's fishing with you! Dear Goddess, that's a hoe shape, not a rod shape! "

"Well, everything's farming with _you_!"

Reports that we were eventually routed by The Mentor, who waved his cane around and threatened to whap us so hard our great-grandchildren would be feeling it, were _greatly falsified. _

208 notes

* * *

**ranchgirlgotback reblogged mrs-hazel-gourmet**

_(image: Pierre lounging against a counter, idly flipping pancakes)_

10000 notes

_#Pierre Gourmet #actual life-ruiner #why so perfect ugh #STOP IT #pancakes #i have to deal with you and your purple suit on a daily basis #oh Goddess #Goddess help me #life: ruined_

* * *

**ranchgirlgotback**

_(image: A large white horse looks at the camera [or photographer] from a field of newly-sown grass)_

Why hello there.

_(image: The horse in mid-trot, coming closer)_

Am I not an impressive horse?

_(image: The horse's mane, whipping grandly through the air.)_

I was a gift from Mrs. Potts to Ranchie, as she correctly surmised that Ranchie would love me immediately, and would be beyond proud to have such a horse. In fact, I am a horse _any_ rancher would be proud to own.

_(image: A thumbs-up near the horse's face)_

Sadly, my owner, though admittedly very proud to own such a magnificent specimen, has had a lack of creativity lately, regarding appropriately impressive horse names. Therefore, she has decided to create a contest!

_A contest?_ you followers ask wonderingly.

Yes, indeed, a contest. A contest to name me, a most swift and marvelous stallion!

_(image: The horse in full gallop)_

What are the mechanics of such a contest, you ask? Well, it is very simple. Simply send in the most dazzling, fabulous, fantastic names you believe are befitting of myself, and the one with the most brilliant entry into the Naming Ranchie's Horse Contest will win an appropriately wondrous prize!

Where to send in the name entries? For this contest, Ranchie has opened her submission box and encourages you to send in horse names, along with the reason why you think it would be befitting of such a horse as myself! Only followers' submissions will be accepted, and only one submission is permitted per follower. Likes and reblogs do not count.

And the appropriately wondrous prize? A monthly gift of photographs of myself, as well as behind-the-blog updates on my health and general events concerning myself. Your first name, if provided, will also be carved above my stall door, declaring you now and forever the Namer of Ranchie's Horse! (Ranchie briefly thought of carving the URL of the winner, but realized that it would be far too difficult to explain a fandom URL, if, indeed, a fandom URL owner won the contest. She simply couldn't be bothered; and besides, URLs can be changed. A first name is (presumably) forever.)

When will the contest end? A week from now, as Ranchie is getting tired of calling me The Nameless Wonder and horsey. She also fears I may think those are my real names, when I obviously deserve a much more fitting name.

Thus, dear followers of Ranchie's blog –

Go forth and submit!

269 notes

* * *

**ranchgirlgotback**

Oh, by the way, I've been meaning to ask: Does anyone here have any information about Sun Stones? (I DON'T MEAN THE POKEMON ONES. I mean the ones related to the creation myth. )

48 notes

Comments are enabled by Disqus.

chords-and-arpeggios: My grandmother used to tell me stories about those! Something about them being the leftovers when the Old Gods lit the fire of the sun?  
green-lanturn: Damn. I was ready to flood you with Pokemon advice when I saw the first part, too.  
pink-ribbons-and-diamonds: How strange that you should ask that…But anyway, it's said those stones harbor intense power, and that power can be used by Harvest Sprites to do incredible feats, even raising long-sunken islands!  
archeology-flower-power: Tumblr users chords-and-arpeggios and pink-ribbons-and-diamonds are essentially correct. Additional info: The lithographs from the Carter Dig in Forget-Me-Not-Valley also state that the Sun Stones have been hidden, and they'll only show up when only when a hero with great need for them does too. #archeologyisfun!

* * *

**ranchgirlgotback**

Hi there, my little red lizardfish! Today we'll be continuing the series on turnip recipes, as I've grown quite a lot of them and I have a _lot _to experiment on. So we'll have three recipes today, but with the same basic concept: _steamed turnip._

To create basic _steamed turnip, _you'll need turnips, a knife, and a steamer. You may want to dice them before cooking, as even shapes cook better.

To create _steamed turnips_ _glazed with honey, _you'll need turnips, a steamer, oil, and honey. You may want to pre-prepare the glaze, by putting the oil and honey together in a pan and heating.

To create _steamed turnip with fish and eggs, _you'll need (duh) turnips, fish, and eggs. You may also want to add mushrooms, but in doing so, _please _be careful that you're not adding anything poisonous. Or, if you are, because you're adventurous like that, _please _remove all the toxins from the 'shroom before eating. _Please. _Dear Goddess.

(Directions for removing toxins from 'shrooms can be found **here**, but please just use normal 'shrooms. Please.)

**Read more.**

* * *

**ranchgirlgotback reblogged inksplashed-heart**

_your name sounds like  
piano chords  
spaced far apart_

_a symphony of loss  
i can't stop singing_

4 notes

* * *

**ranchgirlgotback**

I miss you.

_#personal #the boy #ugh #feelings_

* * *

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**Hi there. I know it's a bit short (A BIT?! Chrysa's mind screeches. A BIT?!) but I literally could not write anything more, as the plot-moving things are the next chapter. Maybe.**

**Denny shippers, there you go.**

**Pierre shippers, there you go.**

**Vaughn shippers...um...Just imagine she is secretly still seething and just refuses to blog it?**

**Shea and Will shippers, JUST WAIT. ;)**

**Anyway, the horse contest is there for a reason. Suggest some horse names, please? :) **

**The recipes are from food dot com, cooks dot com, and Sunshine islands, respectively.**

**See if you can guess who appeared in this chapter!**

**And as always, reviews are as cheesecake to me. Review to feed me! ;) Or, you know, just to tell me if this was good or bad or obviously squeezed out under great duress.**


	7. Chapter 7

"Really, Mirabelle," Chelsea said earnestly, pressing the gift-wrapped package into the older woman's hands, "you have to accept this. I insist."

The animal shop owner dimpled prettily. "Oh, Chelsea, that's very thoughtful of you, but –"

"But nothing," Chelsea said. "If I had known that it was your birthday yesterday and that you chose to give me a gift horse _on your birthday, _I would have given you this in a heartbeat the moment you showed up at my door."

"But I didn't give you the horse because I wanted a gift in return!" Mirabelle protested. "The horse needed a good home, and I felt that you would definitely give it one."

Chelsea smiled a little at the compliment. "That's so kind, Mirabelle. But still. This is my birthday gift to you, and I can't take no for an answer."

"All right," Mirabelle sighed, but Chelsea didn't miss the delighted crinkling in her eyes. "Thank you very much, Chelsea, it's much appreciated." She bustled away to put the gift away to open later.

Chelsea swiveled her head around and winked at Julia. Julia, who had been wiping down the kitchen sink for approximately five minutes, winked in reply.

* * *

As Chelsea walked out of the animal shop, she felt a sense of radiating _heat _coming from somewhere very, very close by.

"Sun Stone," she muttered to herself, and set to work feeling out its location.

Chelsea had discovered two more Sun Stones since the day she took her bath in the watering hole. One, she had found as she was walking out of Gannon's shop after negotiating for the fishing rod. She had been feeling toasty warm the moment she walked onto Sprout Island, which was so strange because it was a cold, drizzly spring day. She ignored it at first, but after leaving Gannon's shop, she had been inundated with a wash of intense heat, and she instantly knew only one thing could have produced such a sensation.

A Sun Stone.

"What is this, glorified Hot-and-Cold?" she whispered to herself, as she set to work trying to determine where the stone could be. When she walked a little further away from Gannon's shop, she could feel the heat drawing away from her. So she walked closer, circled a few times, then suddenly, in a burst of inspiration – examined the stones of the well near Gannon's shop.

Scorching hot.

"There!" she almost shouted, seeing a glitter from the bucket in the well. She quickly pulled up the bucket, and there was her precious third Sun Stone.

She had hurried to Harvest Sprite Island to ask Coral if three Sun Stones were enough to raise the island where the Goddess Pond lay. But the red Harvest Sprite shook his head, morose.

"I'm sorry, Chelsea. Maybe if all the Sprites worked together. But right now, Agete is the only one in our generation who can harness the power of the Sun Stones, and he's not really that strong. He might need twelve stones to raise Mystic Islands."

Twelve! Chelsea was almost, almost discouraged. But then she remembered her family, and how they exemplified stalwart faith and unwavering strength.

_You are a Harvest, Chelsea. Honor the name._

_Yes, _she thought. _I will._

And her faith paid off, because as she was walking off the island, she felt a tiny prickling of heat at the back of her neck.

"There's a Sun Stone here!" she cried out. Coral gasped.

"_Here_? On Harvest Sprite Island?!"

She nodded. All the sprites then proceeded to fan out, searching every square inch of the island for a glimmer of orange, or a prickle of heat.

"Here!" Matcha squeaked. "I felt something!"

She was near the defunct field. As Chelsea walked closer to the green sprite, she felt the heat creeping across her, as well.

"It's here!" she called out, and pulled a stone from the fence of the field. Every sprite cheered.

"We're four steps closer to our goddess!" Coral cried out, and as the sprites cheered and threw magic into the air, Chelsea fancied she could read their hopes growing stronger and stronger.

Now there was a fifth stone lying around here somewhere on Verdure Island, and Chelsea needed to find it. She closed her eyes and concentrated very hard, the way she had seen the sprites do, and pushed out with her will – like her mother had taught her.

_There! _

She pulled another stone out of the bush between Chen's and Mirabelle's shops, and grinned widely.

* * *

"Umm…Luna. Aristotle. Sugar. Artemis. Elsa."

The white horse huffed.

"No, you're right," Chelsea sighed, slumping against the wall of the stable. The Nameless Wonder whickered, nuzzling her. "Wait, I've got sugar cubes here. You probably know that. Umm…Finnick."

Another huff of warm breath.

"What? You're totally a Finnick. Sugar cube?" And she held out a sugar cube for her horse to munch. Large teeth very carefully grazed her fingers, and the sugar was gone.

"Mercury. Blizzard. Avalanche."

Huff.

"I can't keep calling you The Nameless Wonder forever," Chelsea told him, and stroked his flank. "Besides, the followers were great, sending me that many names. I wish you were a mare. That way I could call you Elsa. I _really _like Elsa."

A tail swished into her face.

"Quit! I don't know if you can understand me, or you can feel instinctively that Elsa's a girl name. You and your stallion pride. Oh, wait –" Chelsea checked the notifications on her Tumblr, and smiled. "Look, new names! Rapidash. Merlin."

The horse's ears pricked forward. Chelsea sat up.

"No no no no no. Rapidash?"

Tail swish.

"Oh come on, why not Rapidash? It's very punny and I love Pokemon. Okay, so, umm…Oh Goddess, _no._"

In a very small, hesitant voice, she asked, "…Merlin?"

If a horse could look pleased, this one did.

Chelsea stood up.

"I am _not _calling you Merlin," she said, voice shaking. "I don't care. Your name's not Merlin. Pick another name. There are still three days left in the contest. I'm gonna go now."

And she swung out the stable doors, tears streaming down her face.

* * *

She wound up at the café, sipping tea. Haila, the café owner, had taken one look at her blotchy face and bustled to prepare some, pressing a cup into her hands with a murmured, "There's no charge, dear. You look like you need it."

Chelsea had read somewhere that a cup of something warm mimicked the feeling of a loved one holding one's hands, and that's why cups of tea or coffee were so comforting. She gripped the porcelain a little tighter, closing her eyes to try and pretend –

_No. Absolutely not, Chelsea._

"Chelsea? Excuse me, Chelsea. Are you well?"

Someone sat down next to her, and Chelsea opened her eyes.

"Oh. Hey, Sabrina."

Sabrina Collier was exactly the person Chelsea would never have expected to talk to her whilst she was in the depths of despair. Often gowned in expensive pink and purple fabrics (Chelsea thought silk and satin), Sabrina had long, cascading dark hair that spoke of regular conditioning and brushing, unlike Chelsea's coppery hair, which had started becoming straggly and dry after spending long hours in the hot sun. She was striking, too, with those amethyst-colored eyes and her features that looked like they'd been chiseled out of marble. Sometimes, when Chelsea caught glimpses of Sabrina and her father, Regis Collier, she thought that those two must have been wrought from the stonesand ores they built their fortune on.

But while Regis was cold, chiseled marble and deep shiny black onyx, Sabrina was softer, kinder, more curvaceous pink marble, all sweetness and manners and ribbons. She wouldn't have been out of place in a Regency-era book at all.

"Are you…well? It's just that…you are drinking Haila's special tea, and I know she only makes that for people who are having particularly difficult days."

Chelsea tried to smile, but the attempt shattered before it even began. "I am…having a particularly difficult day, Sabrina."

"Oh." Sabrina blushed. "I – that is, I – I thought maybe…if it would not hurt or inconvenience you more…It usually helps me if I speak about my problems," she finished.

Chelsea's curiosity was piqued. What problems could this pretty, cosseted girl have? And whom would she speak of it to? Somehow she couldn't imagine Regis, swamped in work as he always seemed to be. "Who do you talk to about your problems, Sabrina?"

"Lanna," she replied.

Lanna Linnet. Now that was a person Chelsea hadn't expected to see living in the island chain at all. Most people thought one-hit-wonder Lanna Linnet was away at rehab, after her second single bombed and a storm of criticism rained down on her. She had reportedly had a breakdown and went absolutely wild, and her manager got her into rehab.

But the adorable bright-eyed starlet whom Chelsea often saw around Sprout Island showed no sign of addiction at all – except maybe to fishing. She was well, and healthy, and gorgeous, and spoke often of the natural beauty and exquisite peace of the Sunshine Islands. Maybe she'd just gotten sick of the city and the paparazzi and just left.

(A little bit like Chelsea, minus the paparazzi.)

"Oh," Chelsea said eloquently.

Sabrina smiled, and fiddled with the buttons of her cardigan. "I do not know if – you would want to speak with me about personal matters," she said haltingly. "But…I am always happy to see you, Chelsea. You have such a zest for life, it makes me wish I – I – it makes me sad to see you down."

Impulsively, Chelsea's hand reached out to touch Sabrina's own. "Thank you so much for your concern, Sabrina," she said. "I guess…I was just reminded of someone I didn't want to think about. And it was…difficult. I am trying…to forget."

"Was the person…your boyfriend?"

Chelsea laughed a little self-deprecatingly. "It's that obvious, huh." She sighed. "It's just…I loved him so much, but…things happened and people change and we all have roles to play in this life. Some, we're born into, and can't get away from. Some, we're dragged into. I couldn't handle the role he needed to me to play. He couldn't handle that I didn't want to play the game. He told me that if I wanted to stay with him, I'd have to be the girlfriend he wanted to be. I told him that if he wanted me to stay his girlfriend, I needed him to leave the roles behind. He couldn't do it, so…we broke up, and I ran away."

"Here," Sabrina said. "To the islands."

Chelsea smiled sadly. "To start a new life. To forget." She laughed, bringing out a Sun Stone from her pack. "I guess there was a good reason."

"Oh!" Sabrina's eyes lit up. "A Sun Stone! A real, honest-to-goodness Sun Stone!"

"Yes. I've been collecting them. You know."

"I do know!" Sabrina said enthusiastically, and brought out a book from her designer tote bag. Chelsea couldn't help but notice how perfectly manicured the girl's nails were. "When I heard that the islands had chosen you to find the stones to bring them back to the surface, I immediately started researching. This book is a collaborative work written by the archeologists from the Carter Dig in Forget-Me-Not Valley and the pastor in Mineral Town. There are translations of the lithographs found in the Carter Dig, and the pastor from Mineral Town relates them to the creation mythos. It's such a fascinating book, Chelsea, and I think it would help you a lot."

Chelsea looked down at the gigantic tome, then at the perfectly manicured hands pressing it into her own.

"You're – lending it to me?"

"_Giving_," Sabrina corrected. Then she blushed again, pink invading marble cheeks. "That is – if you would accept it. It's become my favorite book, so I ordered another one and decided to give this to you. I really believe it would help you a lot in your quest to find Sun Stones – and to understand them, too."

"Oh." Chelsea thought she should start protesting, but she was itching to open the cover and _discover, _and besides, the hope in the other girl's eyes was almost painful. "Thank you _so _much Sabrina. I really appreciate this. I –" and taking a leaf from Coral's book, she finished, "hope we can be friends?"

Sabrina's smile was painfully bright. "Oh, I would love to!"

Then her tone quieted and became more serious. "About your ex-boyfriend, Chelsea…the truth is, we cannot force anyone into a role they don't want to play. All we can do is offer. If you didn't want to play, because it hurt you, then…maybe…if he really wanted you, he would have understood that it was either the role, or you. And if he didn't give that up…maybe…it was better that you did. Because forcing you to play a role you didn't want to? It would just hurt you. And if he loved you, he wouldn't want you to get hurt."

Sabrina's eyes were dark and serious. "In the end, nobody can force you to do anything you don't want to do, Chelsea. All we can do…is offer. If you don't want it…we can't do anything about it. All anyone can ever do is risk, and hope that the risk pays off. If you want to play, that would be…really wonderful. And if you don't want to play, then…that's just how it goes."

Sabrina Collier, Chelsea thought as she lay in bed that night, was a very wise person.

The Boy was stuck in a role he didn't want to play, but needed to. And Chelsea, because she loved him, chose to play the role he needed her to. But she couldn't handle it, so she walked away.

_If he loved you, he wouldn't want you to get hurt._

He wanted to play perfect son, and wanted her to play perfect girlfriend. But she couldn't be what he wanted her to be, and he couldn't have a girlfriend who didn't fit into the idea of "perfect son."

So they broke up, and she left to fulfill her lifelong dream.

It was the right choice. She had to believe that it was the right choice.

Chelsea sighed and closed her eyes, but sleep refused to come swiftly that night.

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**The plot moved, I promise. It may be at a glacial pace, but things are building up. Only seven more Sun Stones before Mystic Islands is raised!**

**Who is The Boy? I've been dropping hints since...probably the third chapter. ;) This one is probably the most heavy-handed, and people who are up on their mythology/fandoms and Harvest Moon character tidbits probably have a huge realization underway. ;)**

**Thank you for sending in your horse names! I'm still accepting them. :) What do you guys think of Tempest? I'm toying with the idea...**

**Reviews are like cheesecake to me! **


	8. Chapter 8

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY, CHELSEA!"

Chelsea jolted awake. "Huh? What?"

Blinking her eyes to get rid of the fuzziness, she became aware of a tiny sparkling red...person sitting on her bedclothes. She sighed.

"Coral?"

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY, CHELSEA!" he shouted again, and Chelsea's vision filled with red sparkles. "It's your twenty-second birthday! Yaaay! Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you!"

Chelsea had to smile at the sprite's enthusiasm. "Wow, thanks, Coral," she said. "I'm gonna get up now, mind you don't get knocked off!"

She stood up and stretched luxuriously, then stopped short.

"Is that…"

"Yes!" Coral cheered. "We woke up extra early to make them and enchant them and everything! Yaaay!"

If Chelsea's table could groan, it probably would have under the weight of the feast Chelsea found there. Plates loaded with scones and teapots full of steaming tea, utensils that Chelsea was _pretty sure _she didn't own, and platters with teetering stacks of pancakes covered the table. Fruits, butter, honey and maple syrup stood guard near the pancakes, ready to be used as toppings or drizzled liberally.

"Coral, this is – " Chelsea's voice was tight.

"It wasn't just me! All the sprites helped!"

And suddenly, the rest of the sprites materialized, throwing magic gleefully into the air as they cried, "HAPPY BIRTHDAY, CHELSEA!"

There was Agete; and Cinnabar and Nero; Matcha and Lagoon; El and Aseed; Seiran and Cosmo; and Wisteria and Orchid. Coral smiled and waved merrily at all of them, saying, "Good work, sprites! Mission: Surprise Chelsea! was a success!"

Tears started prickling in Chelsea's eyes, and she knelt to be closer to all of the sprites. "Come here, you guys, and gimme a hug," she said, and the colorful sprites raced into her arms.

"Oh, Chelsea! Did you give a group hug without us?!" Primrose's voice rang out, and the yellow team of sprites, Primrose and Ace, appeared.

"Never," Chelsea promised, and felt a couple of tears fall. "No, no," she hastened to assure the sprites, who had started making distressed sounds, "these are happy tears. I'm so glad. Thank you so much, sprites."

After some more hugging and Chelsea's gratitude, Coral declared, "It's time to begin the Sprite Tea Party!"

It was a glorious tea party. In a twinkling of magic, the sprites were settled into their sprite-sized places were around the table, with appropriately small utensils and teacups and teapots. The only exception for the sprite-sized table setting was at the chair Chelsea usually sat, where a human-sized plate and utensils were set out. In another twinkling, every sprite and human had a serving of pancakes and scones on their plate, and soon playful squabbling broke out amongst the sprites.

"Hey! I want the butter!"

"Could someone…pass me the maple syrup, please?"

"Strawberries! How lovely!"

In the midst of all the commotion, Chelsea felt her phone starting to vibrate.

"Excuse me," she murmured, and stepped out to take the call. The sprites barely noticed, as Coral was busy diffusing a situation in which Primrose, fed up with El, had started pelting him with blueberries.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Chelsea," a warm voice said. "A little bird told me that it's the twentieth of spring today, so…happy birthday."

"Marky!" she exclaimed happily, and wandered out to her field to sit on her special rock. "It's so good to hear you."

"Hear you're starting on the path of Grandpa and Aunt Claire now," he said, and Chelsea could hear the grin in his voice. She could just picture his blond hair sticking up every-which-way, green eyes warm with laughter and love.

"I miss you so much it hurts," she murmured, and her brother went silent. "Come to the Islands. Stay with me. I just expanded my house. We could start on the path of Grandpa and Aunt Claire together."

"I miss you too, Chelly," Mark said quietly.

_But_, he did not say, but Chelsea could clearly hear.

Still, she couldn't stop her mouth. "I just…I miss you, baby brother. And I have a _quest_, like Grandpa and Mom and Aunt Claire, and it's just – I wish you were here. Won't you come here?"

"A quest?"

"A quest," she confirmed. "Apparently the archipelago I'm living on used to have a lot more islands, but they all sunk in a massive earthquake. The only way to raise them is to gather some magical stones that can augment the power of the Harvest Sprites, and…you know. A quest. To find Sun Stones to raise the Sunshine Islands."

"Chelly," he said. "You know I'd love to go. You know I always wanted to have a quest. You know we never should have separated in the first place. But…"

"But Mom," Chelsea completed, and she heard her younger brother's unhappy exhalation.

"How is she?" she asked.

"A little bit better," Mark said. "She's stopped waiting by the Goddess Pond at two A.M., at any rate. And we've stopped having curry for dinner every single night."

Chelsea sighed, and stretched out on her rock. The sun was just peeping out from the horizon, but a quick glance at her crops told her that Primrose and Ace had apparently watered her crops before the Sprite Tea Party. No real work for her today, then.

"Has she found the last five sprites?"

"She's only got one left. Chels, I don't – what happens when she finds the last one?"

"I don't really know, Mark. I wish I knew."

Chelsea closed her eyes and summoned a vision of her mother, as she had known her in her childhood days – bright-eyed, determined, wavy brown hair caught back. Always with a tool in hand, always working, but always approachable. Always willing to put down work for a day with her two children. Laughing, merry, confident in her quest. Purple eyes that sparkled with love and light whenever Daddy walked into the room.

Her heart spilled out on her lips. "Mark, where do you think Daddy went?"

Mark was silent for a very long time.

"You don't make it easy to reply to you, Chels," he finally said, after a long while. "Goddess, I don't know. Even the goddess doesn't know. You remember – how Mom used to prepare such elaborate offerings. Flowers and strawberries and all the first crops…She begged the goddess to scry for him, to ask all the other goddesses if they'd seen him anywhere. Dad was religious…he wouldn't have gone anywhere with a Goddess Pond without throwing in an offering. But…"

"I remember," Chelsea breathed. Tears prickled in her eyes.

Green hair and green eyes, trailing tears down cheeks – _I am so sorry, Jill. I am so sorry. I wish I could. I wish I had the power. I wish anything or anyone at all in the world had the power._

But the goddess had wept, and held Jill in her arms, and told her not even her divine power could sense him anywhere. The other goddesses hadn't seen him, either. That there was only one reason she could think of why her powers couldn't find Jill's husband…

"Do you think he's dead?"

"…I don't know, Chelsea."

Chelsea took a deep, shuddering breath. "Can I talk to Mom? Is she…stable?"

"Yeah, she's stable. Just don't…ask about Dad, Chels. Please."

"I won't."

"Wait just a moment…"

After a while, Mom's tones floated through the speakers. "Chelsea darling?"

"Hi, Mom!" Chelsea injected some false cheer into her voice. "How have you been?"

"Happy birthday, darling! I'm all right, as well as I've ever been."

Silence, wherein Chelsea struggled not to ask, _No, Mom, how have you __truly__ been?_

But instead, she filled the air with chatter about Harvest Sprites and what a drizzly spring it had been, and Mom, do you have any tips for growing potatoes in such drizzly weather? Mom, once given something she knew intimately, could dish out advice with the best of them. Soon, Chelsea's head was filled with her mom's advice ("Harvest Sprites usually love flour, so give them some!" "Potatoes don't need a lot of water, but they _can _survive the drizzles you've been experiencing, just not too much rain. Pray to the goddess for better weather" and "Really, turnips are the easiest. Grow and ship a lot of them for your first spring.") and she was laughing, saying, "Thank you, Mommy!"

"You're always welcome, Chelly Belly." Mom's voice was warm and loving, and Chelsea could bask in her love forever. "Our birthday gifts will be coming on the next ship in, Mark tells me."

"Birthday gifts?"

"Yes! Mine and Mark's. I don't know _where _your father put his, he was always the best at hiding presents – I would have shipped it with ours, if I knew where he'd hidden it."

Alarm bells started ringing in Chelsea's head. _She's not supposed to be talking about Dad! Oh Goddess, preserve us, preserve my mother's sanity. _Out loud, she said as calmly as she could muster, "It's alright, Mommy. Thank you so much for the birthday gifts. I'm sure I'll appreciate them."

"You're always welcome, my sweet girl." Mom seemed stable still, thank Goddess. It was probably just a throwaway remark. "Goodbye, and happy birthday again!"

"'Bye. I love you!"

"I love you, too."

_Click._

Chelsea stared at the phone, and let out a huge sigh of relief. Crisis averted.

"Chelsea?" Coral queried, appearing from the house. "Who was that?"

"My mom and brother," Chelsea answered. She smiled at the sprite. "What's up?"

"Gift-giving!" the sprite cheered. "Come on back in the farm house, and we'll give you your gift!"

* * *

Back in the farm house, Chelsea finished her cold, but still delicious, pancakes and scones, as the sprites fairly vibrated with excitement. The very moment the last forkful had been swallowed, Primrose started forward, but deflated when she saw Chelsea raising her teacup to her lips.

"Oh, this tea is really good," Chelsea complimented, laughing internally as the sprites fell all over each other to accept the compliment and yet politely force Chelsea to _hurry up! _Finally, she swallowed the last bit of tea, folded her hands primly in front of her, and said, "Okay, I'm ready."

"Yes! Finally!" Primrose blurted.

"Okay, sprites!" Coral said, in his Very Important Voice. "Mission: Give Gift to Chelsea! is underway! Everybody, on the count of three…"

"Wait!" a sprite called from the back. "Is it on three or after three?"

"After three!" everyone yelled, clearly exasperated. Chelsea suppressed a snicker.

"One, two, three!"

And indeed, _after _the count of three, a box materialized in front of Chelsea.

Coral stood on top of it, sparking red magic and obviously preparing to give a Very Important Speech. "Chelsea, as today is your twenty-second birthday, we, the Harvest Sprites, would like to present you with a birthday gift. This birthday gift is no mere bauble, but a token of our everlasting gratitude and friendship. The dearest wish of our collective hearts is that you will like what we have chosen to give you. We also pray to the Harvest Goddess that it will serve you in the quest that you have been so gloriously given."

Chelsea said very solemnly, as befitting the occasion, "I will love and cherish your gift for all of my days."

The sprites looked very pleased. One piped up from the back, "Give it to her already!"

"Shh!" another said, angrily. "There needs to be proper pomp and circumstance for gift-giving!"

Coral descended from the box, and slowly, reverently, the sprites moved as one to raise the lid off of the box.

Inside the box was a gold chain, with a single pendant strung upon it. A heart-shaped ruby glittered in its center, a perfect star in its heart; the earmark of all fine rubies.

"Oh," Chelsea breathed. "It's _beautiful._"

With the help of the sprites, it was fastened around her neck. Then, of course, she had to be hurried to a mirror, and declared "Stunning!" by Primrose, and "Hmph. All right," by El. Wisteria pressed her hand and whispered, "You're so pretty," into her ear, then blushed, squeaked, and disappeared in the mass of sprites wishing Chelsea many happy returns.

All in all, Chelsea thought, as she knelt to give the sprites a group hug, it was a rather lovely birthday morning.

* * *

"Happy birthday, Chelsea!"

"Many happy returns, Chels!"

"Happy Uterus Liberation day, dude," was Natalie's contribution.

As Chelsea walked through the town, she was showered with birthday greetings from the villagers that had become her friends, over the course of a little more than half a season. Several gifts were pressed into her hands – gratin from Felicia, who fussed that "you're getting a little too thin, Chelsea dear", a jar of mayonnaise from Mirabelle, a flower from Eliza, who told her sweetly that, "You look beautiful today, Chelsea. Almost as beautiful as me!"

But the best gift, Chelsea had to admit, came from her peers.

"Yo, dude," Natalie waved her over. "Come over here for a moment, we've got something to give you."

Chelsea wandered over, to where Natalie, Elliot, Pierre, Julia, Lanna, Denny and Sabrina were sitting on the Verdure Island beach. "What's up, guys?"

"Hello, Chelsea!" Lanna trilled. She always seemed to be singing her sentences. "It's just that lately, we've been finding so many strange stones! Stones we never saw before!"

"Caught in my nets…" Denny contributed.

"…found while ingredient-searching…"

"Found on a walk…"

"And we wondered if maybe, it's got something to do with you!" Julia finished. "So we asked Sabrina about the strange stones, and she said that according to some book, those stones only appeared where they were because a hero needed them!"

"And, well, Grandpa said you were special," Natalie grinned.

"So, here you are, Chelsea," Sabrina smiled, and held out her hand. "This is my birthday gift to you, in aid of your quest."

Glittering in Sabrina's hand was a single Sun Stone.

And as her peers began grinning and holding out their own hands, Chelsea became aware of a warmth, beginning to wash over her skin. It wasn't a scorching heat like before – just warmth, and friendship, and a prickling enchantment that tasted just like the magic of the stones…

"Happy birthday to you," Lanna began.

"Happy birthday to you," Pierre sang;

"Happy birthday, dear Chelsea," Sabrina's soprano, rising high;

"Happy birthday to you," Natalie, Elliot, Julia, and Denny ended, smiling.

"Oh, my Goddess, you guys," Chelsea breathed, as she took in the Sun Stones in each outstretched hand. "_Seven _Sun Stones. I can't – just…"

"You're welcome, dude!" Denny grinned, and clapped her on the back. Natalie smiled at her.

"I figured, after all the toy flowers you brought me, giving you the rock I picked up somewhere was a good deal," the pink-haired girl laughed. "No need to thank me, or anything."

"And I am so grateful for the fish!" Lanna said. "Really, Chelsea, it was so thoughtful of you to gift me some of your catch."

"I appreciated the potatoes," Elliot mumbled, but then threw a huge, genuine smile at the rancher.

"I'm just really glad you treat that horse well," Julia piped up. "And, well," her smile softened, "you're a nice girl, Chelsea. I'm glad we're friends."

Sabrina pressed Chelsea's work-roughened hands between her own, and her purple eyes were smiling, yet serious. "I believe in you, Chelsea," she said. "I believe in your quest."

Pierre smiled at her, and wasn't _that _the cherry on top of all the frosting of her birthday cake? "I am glad you're on the islands, Chelsea," he said. "I look forward to more years of friendship with you."

Chelsea turned to Denny, eyebrow raised. Denny raised his hands defensively. "What?" he barked, but he was laughing.

"Not gonna tell me why you gave me your stone, fish boy?"

"Well, isn't it obvious, farm girl?" Denny asked, grinning widely. "You're my best friend. I got your back, quest or no quest."

She smiled at him, and as afternoon stretched into evening, the eight young adults spent a happy time at the beach, telling stories, roasting fish (Julia begged off, but was placated with some boiled eggs), and laughing as lightheartedly and uproariously only young adults could ever do.

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**...Was this rushed? I feel like this was a little rushed. Should I go back and edit the other chapters to show Chelsea actually giving gifts to the other characters? See, I always thought that was a fine in-game mechanic, but kind of difficult to explain in a story. So I just...didn't. But then Natalie ate my brain and snarked that a rock was a good exchange for all the toy flowers, sooo...I don't really know. Someone tell me if it was rushed and if it needs editing, I'm kind of freaking out a little.**

**Also, we've officially hit 50 pages on Microsoft Word! Wow. I didn't know I had the focus to write 18,500 words of fic ****_at all._**

**MYSTIC ISLANDS ARE COMING UP NEXT WOOHOO.**

**I need sleep. It's 1am. But as always, this fic ate my brain.**

**Reviews are still cheesecake!**


	9. Chapter 9

"Okay, sprites, are you ready?"

The whole assembly of Harvest Sprites looked back at Chelsea, a rainbow of serious faces and hearts that had waited far too long. "We are," they intoned, as one.

Chelsea nodded, and reached into her pack.

"Whenever you're ready, Agete."

Agete, pale-faced, tiny hands shaking, stepped forward from the red team. Coral squeezed his shoulder in support. Then, head held high, he moved forward to the shrine, where Chelsea stood waiting.

Meadow Island was silent – not even a breath of wind stirred the grasses and wildflowers. Even the birds had stopped singing, as if they could anticipate the event about to occur. Chelsea wondered if, on the other islands, life had stopped as completely as on Meadow Island; if the villagers, in some way, also sensed the gravity and the weight of the magic hanging thickly in the air.

Agete reached the front of the shrine. Slowly, carefully, Chelsea tipped the twelve Sun Stones into her hands, and began to arrange them in a ritual circle.

When the final stone was laid, Agete stepped into the circle. He spasmed for a moment – the sprites surged forward to help him – then steadied.

"I'm all right," he whispered, "just – unused to it. So much…so much power…"

He raised his arms, and began to chant.

"Budum budum budum budum budum."

"Budum budum budum budum budum," answered the other sprites.

"Budum budum budum budum budum," Agete chanted, louder.

"Budum budum budum budum budum!"

Around Agete, the Sun Stones began to glow.

"Rise, Mystic Islands, break free of thy chains! Rise, Mystic Islands, see sunlight once again! Rise, Mystic Islands, breathe free air once more! Rise, Mystic Islands, relearn the lap of the waves on thy shores!"

Beneath Chelsea's feet, the ground began to shake. The sprites incanted ever louder, bringing forth the power of the stones as Agete raised his cry to the islands.

"BUDUM BUDUM BUDUM BUDUM BUDUM!"

"Rise, Mystic Islands, break free of thy chains! Rise, Mystic Islands, see sunlight once again!"

"BUDUM BUDUM BUDUM BUDUM BUDUM!"

"Rise, Mystic Islands, breathe free air once more! Rise, Mystic Islands, relearn the lap of the waves on thy shores!"

"BUDUM BUDUM BUDUM BUDUM BUDUM!"

The magic build-up in the air was so thick, Chelsea almost gagged on it. She couldn't breathe, could barely even speak. That much power should have raised a lesser isle already. But the magic was sluggish, slow to react, when it should have been quicksilver swift, fast and intense, running ahead to obey the caster before she even voiced her command. Directionless, unharnessed, it gathered in the air instead, staticky and thick, crawling over Chelsea's skin like sticky molasses. She found herself shouting along with Agete,

"RISE, MYSTIC ISLANDS, BREAK FREE OF THY CHAINS!"

With a deep, shuddering groan, the voice Chelsea had heard once before spoke.

_"__I hear and obey, Goddess-born._"

The earth quaked, then was still.

Agete slumped to the ground.

"Did it work?" Coral cried out.

The sprites ran to the south end of Meadow Island, straining for a sight of their beloved Mystic Islands.

"There!" El screamed, characteristic arrogance stripped away. "There! I see it! I see it!"

Crying, weeping, screaming, all the sprites twisted on one foot, and disappeared.

Chelsea was left on the island, panting heavily.

"Chelsea?" Kirk called, from his boat. "You alright?"

Chelsea liked the boatman. He was a calm and composed nice guy, always ready with a smile for anyone who wanted to get ferried around the island chain. Moreover, he had an almost supernatural sense for people who needed ferrying – nobody was ever stranded on the islands, because Kirk would always be at the dock, smiling and asking where you wanted to go, even when just a moment ago he was on the other side of the sea, ferrying someone else. It was strange, but quite useful and very kind of Kirk.

"Yeah, I'm alright," Chelsea called back. "Just a bit out of breath. Did you see what happened?"

"The sprite of the shrine raised an island, right? Bit too far to hear or see real clear, but the feelin' in the air – wow. Ain't never felt nothin' like that before. Was that magic?"

"Pretty sure," Chelsea said. "Hey, could you take me to the new island? The sprites went a bit wild and forgot me here, I think."

"I'm Kirk the boatman. That's what I'm here for!" he joked. "Hop on in, and I'll take you to the – Mystic Islands, wasn't it?"

"Right."

* * *

When Chelsea arrived at the Mystic Islands, she was surprised to see that there was a perfectly usable and non-water-damaged dock and pier. She was further surprised to see that there was also a bridge connecting the two isles of the Mystic Islands.

"They must have been made before the islands sank," Kirk said, when she expressed her surprise. "As for the not having water damage – gee, Chelsea, I don't really know. Maybe that's part of the magic of the Sun Stones. Brings the islands up and right back to tiptop condition, down to the docks and bridges."

Chelsea shrugged. She really didn't know either way.

"Say!" Kirk exclaimed. "Don't that island look just like a teddy bear head to you?"

Chelsea looked at the island he was pointing to, and her eyes widened in surprise. "It does! I wonder why."

"Ain't it just," he grinned. "Now, Missy Harvest. Mind you step clear on the pier, eh? Don't want you slippin' and fallin' into the water. You'll catch your death of cold, ridin' back to Ranch Island in wet clothes."

Chelsea hopped off the boat, and grinned at Kirk. "I'm alright. Thanks, Kirk."

"You take care, Missy Harvest."

"You too, Kirk."

Wending her way to the pond she had glimpsed momentarily from the boat, she found the sprites standing at its edges, crying.

"She's not – " _hiccup _" – answering!" Lagoon wailed.

"Has she –" sob " – forgotten the Sprites' Call?" Nero wept.

Even Coral was leaking tears.

"We did everything like our parents taught us!" he howled. "Flare our magic then call out her name and then flare it again! What did we do wrong? Is she gone forever?" The sprites wept even louder at the last sentence.

Chelsea opened her pack, pulled out a single perfect moon drop, and gently set it afloat into the Goddess Pond.

From the surface of the water, green sparkles began to gather, then swirl. The sprites halted their crying to watch, wide-eyed. The sparkling green magic began to spiral upwards, then slowly…solidify.

"DUM-DA-DA-DAAA!"

"Harvest Goddess!" Primrose wailed, and hurled herself into the water.

The Harvest Goddess held out a hand, and Primrose floated up on green magic, unharmed.

"Now, now, little sprite," the goddess chided. "There's no need to go around hurling yourself into the water to find me. I am here." She smiled. "Hello, Harvest Sprites. It's been a while. Where's Anemone?"

Coral stepped forward, then bowed so deeply the pompom of his hat touched the ground.

"Harvest Goddess, we're so glad that you're here. Anemone was my mother. She…joined the earth many years ago."

The Harvest Goddess looked stricken.

"Many…years?" She closed her eyes. "Oh. I see. The other islands are…gone?"

"Sunken, Harvest Goddess," Coral hastened to inform her. "Sunken, but they talked to us! They told us that finding Sun Stones…that's the way they can rise again from the deeps!"

The goddess's gaze sharpened. "So your generation has a sprite who can talk to the ancients?"

"Agete, Harvest Goddess!" And Agete was pushed forward by many hands.

"Hello, little sprite," the goddess greeted Agete. "So you can speak to the ancients. Tell me, what do they say?"

Agete fairly trembled. "That…they miss the surface," he squeaked. "And…and…that they're glad there is…a hero…"

"A hero!" The goddess straightened, and for the first time her gaze found Chelsea. Her bright green eyes widened.

"Harvest Goddess," Chelsea said, and curtsied slightly.

"_Jack_," the goddess breathed.

The sprites looked terrified. But Primrose, floating on green magic, managed to squeak, "H-Her n-n-name's Chelsea, a-actually, beloved goddess!"

But it seemed like the goddess did not hear. She glided to the very edge of her pond, sheer skirts swishing, and motioned for Chelsea to come forward.

She pushed back Chelsea's hair, and with infinitely gentle, yet trembling fingers, tipped her face up to look into her eyes.

Chelsea looked back at her calmly, her heart beating rabbit-fast, but somehow knowing she had nothing to fear.

"_Jack_," the goddess whispered again, and let go of Chelsea, to retreat backwards to the other edge of her pond. She was visibly shaking, and tears were gathering in her eyes.

Coral – ever brave, ever loving Coral – dared to ask, "Are you all right, Harvest Goddess?"

"A hero," the goddess whispered. "A hero is right. Jack…my beloved Jack…" She looked up at Chelsea again. "You look so much like him. Just like him…"

Chelsea touched her face, her cheeks, self-consciously. She didn't really know what to say.

The goddess closed her eyes again.

"I didn't know it would hurt this much," she finally said. "To see him again. Him, but not him. To see the two of us. I touched her mind, but the mind was her own – it was not Jack's. But her face…"

"…Goddess?"

The goddess straightened up, and with purpose, nodded to Agete.

"The islands said there was a hero. They were correct." She gestured to Chelsea, her eyes sparkling with unshed tears. "You are a Harvest, Chelsea. Honor the name."

The house words, the ones Jack Harvest stamped into the hearts of his two daughters, the ones Jill and Claire Harvest stamped into the hearts of their children, made Chelsea reel.

"_Grandmother_," Chelsea realized.

Eyes sparkling, the goddess nodded.

"But – _how_?" Chelsea choked out, reaching out to touch the emerald hair, the perfect ivory skin. Her mother's lessons flashed into her mind: _But with the form that would become the humans' guide, the Old Gods took especial care. They made a form of a woman, not with common clay, but with ivory, chiseling her features with such attention that the sun would never shine on anyone who could claim a greater share of beauty than that of the Olds Gods' dearest creation. And into her they breathed the breath of life, and in her they lit the fire of magic. And she was named the Harvest Goddess. _

The goddess closed her eyes, and Chelsea's mind filled with the presence of the Harvest Goddess.

_The moment I returned to the mortal plane, I fell in love with the hero who brought me back, _the presence whispered, an oddly familiar timbre to it. Chelsea gasped.

_You're the one who – !_

_Led you to the Sun Stone in your watering hole, yes._

_But – how?_

_I am a goddess, _the Harvest Goddess thought dryly. _My home may have been locked beneath the waves, but my power is not so weak that I cannot touch the minds of mortals._

Chelsea was silent, thinking deeply. _So this was why you were never around, _she thought. _You're a goddess. How did Grandpa Jack…_

_He fell in love with me just before I was transported to the other world, _the goddess answered succinctly. _Everything he did – the sixty sprites, the farm – was in order to bring me back._

_Isn't it…blasphemous…to…you know?_

The goddess sighed, and Chelsea felt a secondhand pang go through her own heart. _It was...never thought of…that is to say, the Old Gods never thought I would be drawn to a mortal. It was never forbidden, because it was never thought of. But Jack was an old soul. He knew and understood the divine, because his soul had been born when the divine was new. But despite that…when I desired to marry Jack, I was forbidden._

_Why?_

_I had duties, _the goddess said, in a crisp tone. _I have duties. In the beginning of the world, they were not so numerous…but now that humanity is driving itself to insanity, and breeding wildly as well, I have duties I cannot do alone. That is why I have Harvest Sprites, and that why I splinter._

Splinter_. _Chelsea knew that word, had heard it from her mother during their lessons about the goddess. The Harvest Goddess was a single entity, the one that had been carved from ivory in the beginning of the world, but she was also the ethereal appearances in the ponds all over the world. Thus, the Harvest Goddess could appear in two places far apart at the same time, because her consciousness was splintered into manifestations that showed themselves only at the Goddess Ponds.

_So what happened, Grandmother?...If you don't mind me calling that._

_I do not…dislike it, _the goddess said slowly.

_I loved him with the whole of me, every manifestation all at once, and my ivory body as well. The Harvest King feared it would disrupt my duties. So I was not permitted to marry him. But he hinted…should half-human, half-divine children be born…in another universe, the Harvest King has taken a woman rancher, just like you, for his lover. And he has children. He felt it would be cruel to bar me from that joy._

_That is how your mother and aunt were born._

Chelsea stood still, turning things over in her head. It was just…beyond comprehension, beyond anything she had ever imagined. She knew that her family could work magic, had been blessed beyond compare with their ability to grow anything and everything, to be exceptional at their destiny. But she thought that had been a blessing of gratitude from the goddess, when her grandfather brought her back to the world. Not because…they had divine blood running through their veins.

The Harvest Sprites nudged each other, worried.

"Do you think Chelsea and the goddess are okay?"

"They've been silent for a really long time."

"Coral, hey Coral. Are they doing the mind-melding thing that your parents told you the goddess could do sometimes? Can you tell? Only Chelsea looks really sad and the goddess looks like she's about to cry every time she looks at Chelsea."

"Is that a bad thing? The goddess crying when she sees Chelsea? Are those happy or sad tears?"

"I think it's both."

"How can you tell?"

"Well, the Forget-Me-Not sprites told me some stories…"

"And your duties?" Chelsea asked aloud, rather inanely, she thought. "Are they…well?"

"Your thought is not inane," the goddess responded. "They are…well enough."

The two just stood there, gazing at each other. Chelsea was impressing the face of the goddess upon her mind, but for the life of her it wouldn't really stick…it seemed like the goddess's face kept changing, one moment flawless and fabulously gorgeous, and the next adorable and girlish, then wavered and became quiet and sweetly beautiful, oddly like Sabrina.

"Your eyes," she said finally. "Your eyes – my brother Mark has green eyes. Very much like yours."

"My grandson," the goddess murmured. "It's so odd, I hope you don't mind – this splinter doesn't have all the memories of the other splinters that didn't spend several decades underwater. I should know all this, but this splinter is still receiving memories."

"Downloading from the cloud," Chelsea's mouth murmured, without her consent.

"Pardon?...I suppose that's an apt enough metaphor," the goddess said, after a moment. She blinked. "You do look so much like him. But a little like…like me, as I appeared to him."

"What are you going to do now?" Chelsea asked. "What am _I _going to do now? I mean…there are more Sun Stones, obviously, there are more islands I need to raise, but…"

"Then that's what you are going to do," the goddess said. "Find more stones, raise more islands. You're a hero. It's what you do."

The twist of the goddess's mouth made Chelsea think maybe her grandfather told her the exact same thing.

"Do you have…any suggestions?" she ventured, realizing that maybe this goddess wanted to download memories in peace. And possibly question her sprites about the time she'd missed.

The goddess considered for a moment.

"Volcano Island," she said. "That has a mine in it, plenty of precious stones. You could go in and mine, get greater income. As you are of divine blood, you would not…I mean," she looked a little awkward, "You can tolerate temperatures normal mortals cannot."

"Oh," Chelsea managed. "Uh, thanks. Grandmother. Harvest Goddess. See you, I guess…"

"Goodbye, Chelsea," the goddess said. "I will be waiting for your next visit."

_Volcano Island, _Chelsea considered, as she hailed Kirk to take her back home. The sun was beginning to set. _Gems and ores. That's not a half-bad idea at all…_

* * *

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**And thus, this story veers into the headcanon I've had since I first picked up Island of Happiness.**

**In the previous games, you could marry the Harvest Goddess. Difficult, yes, but not impossible. But IoH came around, and suddenly the goddess was off-limits. Why?**

**Then I saw Mark's eyes were a brilliant goddess green, and tada! headcanon was born.**

**Why ****_is _****there a perfectly usable dock and pier at every newly-raised island? It can't be Gannon's work, because I've gone to islands right after they were raised and there they were. It's probably just a plot-hole, so I just handwaved it like the games did.**

**Volcano Island. Ooh, this oughta be interesting...**

**As always, reviews are cheesecake to me, and I hope you liked what's going on in Ranch Girl Got Back so far!**


	10. Chapter 10

**ranchgirlgotback**

Isn't it strange how little we actually know about our own families? I mean, I've been in my family for twenty-two years now, and I thought I knew everything there was to know about it. I listened to the stories, the family lore, the funny tales of my grandfather falling into the Goddess Pond and the romantic tales of my aunt getting her leg broken going mining and my uncle going in to save her. I thought that was the essence of my family. Green thumbs and silly stories.

Except, well, living here on The Archipelago, I've discovered more about the Ranchie family, and it's just…wow. A bit strange. I mean, usually you learn this stuff when you're living _with _your family, not away from them. It's…weird.

And before you ask, no, I didn't learn any deep dark secrets like my great-great-grandfather bricking someone up in the basement after luring them in there with the promise of Amontillado. It's not like that. It's just…weird. Learning more about your grandparents as people who were young and in love. We never really do think about our grandparents being our age and being stupidly, hopelessly in love and everything.

My grandfather was super super wrong for my grandma. Or, well, they were super super wrong for each other. Grandma wasn't supposed to marry _at all, _and Grandpa was supposed to marry a woman who'd help him with the family business, you know_. _But, well, things change and people fall in love at first sight and go against all the odds and all the roles people are forced to play just to get together. I believe so deeply in true love prevailing over _everything_, but I just didn't think I'd be hearing a true-blue epic love story like that in my own family tree.

It's…humbling. Learning how deeply they loved each other and how much they sacrificed just to be together. I don't think it would be exaggeration to say that my grandfather moved heaven and earth to get my grandmother, and that my grandmother went against the very fabric of the universe just to love him back.

But anyway, enough about my grandparents! I've received some messages asking me about life on the islands, making sure I'm alright, and my dear little strawberries, I am _more _than alright! Life here is just so…perfect, and idyllic, and picturesque. It's like every day I am here, I wake up to a soul kissed by beauty. It's like I'm living in a painting, that's how beautiful it is here. It's…wow. I am so blessed to be living here, and so blessed that I have my Tumblr family! :)

Am I working hard? Well…take a gander at this!

_(image: A huge turnip with a medal slung about its stalk)_

That, my pretty little lumber planks, is called a Crop Festival first place win!

(*explosive cheering in the background*)

Every season, there's a Crop Festival held, to see which farmer grew the biggest, freshest, most quality crop! These season, the theme was turnips, and as you can see, your beloved resident Ranchie won first place for best turnip ever!

(Or, well, for this year. But see, I won! I won!)

The Mentor was duly impressed. I'm so glad I impressed him. I get the feeling he was waiting on this crop festival to kinda…test my mettle? So I'm glad I passed his little test.

Oh, and I'd like to say thank you to everyone who sent in messages telling me about Sun Stones and everything. And yes, even to those who gave me Pokemon advice. I'm very thankful for that, as your tips helped me get a Sun Stone, and I can now evolve my Gloom into a Bellossom! ;)

"Enough about that, Ranchie!" you impatient hooves cry out. "What about the Naming Ranchie's Horse contest?"

Ehehehehe.

_(image: A white horse rearing up on his two hind legs, snout up in the air, mane whipping grandly in the wind)_

(I have a very obliging horse. He gives me the _best _shots. This is a model horse. A model horse, I tell you!)

I have to admit, the No-Longer-Nameless Wonder was very finicky about picking his name. In fact, that was almost his name – Finnick, because he loves sugar cubes! But, well, after Merlin and Elsa were knocked out of the running, regrettably (I loved Elsa, but he flicked a stinging tail into my face. Annoying horse and his male pride, ugh), he finally decided on a name worthy of his speed and grace.

Thus, I present to you…the raging, stormy, viciously fast No-Longer-Nameless Wonder…Tempest!

Congratulations to pink-ribbons-and-diamonds, who gave the winning name! Your photographs and name plaque will arrive in your submission box…sooner rather than later. Hahaha. Thank you again, pink-ribbons-and-diamonds! Please drop your first name into my ask box, at your leisure. :)

Again, thanks to everyone for participating, and I love you all so freaking much, you've no idea. Until next time!

Love,  
Ranchie

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state-of-grays: Wow! Congrats, Ranchie! And wow, about your grandparents' love story. That's like…epic. In the greatest sense of the word.

shakespeare-and-kesha: Tempest, as in from The Tempest in Shakespeare? Cool name! *hearts everywhere*

sansastark: Are you going to tell us more about your grandparents? Come on, Ranchie! It's like a song, or a story from long, long ago…was your grandmother a nun, or something?

* * *

**ranchgirlgotback**

**sansastark **replied to your**post**: **_Isn't it strange how little we actually know about our own families? I mean, I've been in my family_****…**

_Are you going to tell us more about your grandparents? Come on, Ranchie! It's like a song, or a story from long, long ago…was your grandmother a nun, or something?_

Hahaha! Close, but no dice. My grandma was…way more forbidden than nuns. Way, way more. I mean, I heard there were some nuns who can choose to marry…I'm not sure if that's true though.

* * *

**_hairthecoloroflemons _**_asked:_

_Ranchie! You turned twenty-two already?! Belated happy birthday! How are you out there on The Archipelago?_

Hi there, hairthecoloroflemons! I'm doing great, as you can see :) I miss my mother and brother sometimes, but I'm glad I decided to move here. It's a wonderful life.

* * *

Chelsea looked at her woodshed and frowned.

She had wood – _more _than enough wood, actually – but she balked at the thought of handing over so much gold. That was a problem.

"You need a chicken coop," Mom had told her, in their latest phone call. "The sooner, the better. Chicks mature quickly and give eggs daily. If it were sunny all the time there, I'd suggest just putting up a pen for them, but you said it's been drizzly, and chicks don't do well in the damp."

"It's going on summer, Mom," Chelsea had argued. "It'll be warm and dry for them. Too warm, I'd think."

"And hurricanes? That's an _archipelago_, Chelsea, out on the open sea. Breeding ground for storms."

And Chelsea had to bow to her mother's superior logic. Sometimes, in all her and Mark's steering away from the Dad issue, she forgot that her mother was sharper than a tack and was much, much more experienced with the ranching thing than she was.

She may have been born a Harvest, but her mother honed that legacy to Legendary-Sword sharpness.

"And Chelsea?" Mom had said. "How much wood do you happen to have? If you have enough wood and money, I'd suggest building a barn, as well, as soon as you can. Calves take a while to mature, and it'd be better that they're milk-producing as fast as possible. Yogurt and cheese make for good exports – the city people love yogurt, I've never understood why."

That was just it. Chelsea had more than enough wood – she had five hundred planks – but she'd gone to Gannon and asked how much he'd charge her for a coop and barn, and he'd said, "About seventeen thousand altogether, Missy Harvest, if you've got the wood for me."

"I've got wood," she murmured faintly, then excused herself to run back home and count her money.

Which turned out to be eighteen thousand gold.

Forking over seventeen thousand of her hard-earned money sent a spike of terror through her heart. It was nearing the end of spring already, and her potatoes had about one last harvest then she'd be broke until summer harvest. Well, probably not broke – there'd be things to forage and export, more likely than not – but she'd rather not live on a thousand gold for the whole summer. Especially not when there was feed to buy and grass seeds to sow.

Suddenly, she smacked her forehead.

"_Goddess _I'm an idiot."

* * *

"Hiya, Coral!"

The red sprite bounced up and down on his heels when he saw the rancher approaching from across the lily pads. "Hey, Chelsea! Hey everyone, it's Chelsea!"

Everyone looked up from whatever they were doing and waved a, "Hello, Chelsea."

"So what brings you here, Chelsea?" Coral said excitedly. "Do you want us to enchant something? Huh? Huh?"

"Whoa, calm down, little guy," Chelsea laughed, and knelt so that she could pat him on the head. "Well, yeah, actually, I was kind of hoping Matcha and Lagoon? Hey, Matcha and Lagoon," she waved to the sprites in question, "could work some of that number magic so that I could get a chicken coop set up. I kind of…don't have a lot of dough."

Matcha and Lagoon looked at each other.

"A small enchantment…"

"…for two days?" Lagoon completed. "Yeah, we can do it, Chelsea, we can do it! We'll start tomorrow! Right away!"

"At Gannon's shop!"

"See you, Chelsea!"

_Well, _Chelsea thought, as she walked off the island, _that was easy. I just hope that works…_

* * *

"Chelseaaaaaa!"

"Oh, hello there Eliza," Chelsea said warmly. "You're looking beautiful today, as always."

Eliza smiled and blushed prettily. Honestly, she was the vainest child Chelsea had ever met, but could she blame her? With those big blue eyes and lovely blonde curls, nobody could have pegged Gannon as her father. And Goddess knew, Gannon spoiled his only child quite rotten. He loved her so very much. Not wisely, but too well.

It was easy to love Eliza. She made it so easy. Even now, as Chelsea looked at the pretty child, her heart panged at the thoughts she was thinking and knelt to hug her tightly.

"You're always so nice to me, Chelsea," Eliza said. "So, I talked Daddy into doing something really nice for you, in return!"

"Really?" Chelsea asked. "Wow, that's so sweet of you, Eliza! Thank you so much. But what is it?"

"You're going to be getting a ten percent discount on your next two projects!" Eliza burst out.

"Really?!" Chelsea gasped.

Gannon, from behind the counter, nodded.

"Yeah, it ain't no big deal for me. I got the feeling you be giving me a lot of business anyway." His face split into a huge grin, which Chelsea found oddly endearing. Gannon was such a gentle giant, really. It was Eliza people had to watch out for. "Anyways, you've been real kind to Eliza and me. I figure, this is a way of payin' it back."

"You are so kind," Chelsea said. "Wow. I can't really – wow. Thank you so much. Um. So, can I contract you for a barn today and a chicken coop after?"

"No problem," Gannon said. He started totting up the prices and the discounts. "So that's two hundred wood and ten thousand eight hundred gold for the barn."

"Here it is," Chelsea said, forking over the ten thousand eight hundred. Watching it disappear into Gannon's till didn't hurt her anymore, not when she thought of the one thousand two hundred she'd saved. _Matcha and Lagoon, thank you so much, _she thought, swiveling her head around to see if she could find them. Coral had informed her that the sprites would be casting the enchantment nearby, so she might catch a glimpse of them.

_Matcha! _

The green sprite standing on a woodpile waved at her merrily, while continuing to sway and cast number magic in the air. Chelsea grinned.

_Thanks, little one!_

"A'right, Chelsea," Gannon said. "I'll head on over to your farm later to put it up. See you later."

"See you later, Gannon. Thank you so much to the two of you. Gannon, Eliza."

* * *

"Mi-ra-belle!" Chelsea sang, swinging in the door of the animal shop. "I've got news – _oh_."

A black-clad cowboy stood in the corner of Mirabelle's shop, scowling at her from under the brim of his hat.

_It's Monday, _Chelsea realized, and resisted the urge to groan loudly.

Mirabelle bustled out from the backroom, smiling at Chelsea. "Hello, dear. What's this news you speak of?"

Keeping a wary eye on the cowboy, Chelsea said, "I've asked Gannon to put up a barn for me today. Knowing how Gannon works, I'm optimistic it'll be up by tomorrow."

"Oh Chelsea, that's wonderful!" Mirabelle cried. "And I know just the thing for a barn-warming present. Come out back for a moment."

Confused, but obedient, Chelsea followed Mirabelle out to the back.

"There!" Mirabelle declared, smiling. "Look at her! Isn't she absolutely perfect?"

A lovely, doe-eyed, fawn-colored calf looked up at them, chewing her cud placidly.

"Oh, what a pretty thing," Chelsea breathed. Then Mirabelle's earlier words clicked in her brain. "Barn-warming present? Mirabelle, you don't mean - ?"

"I mean exactly that!" Mirabelle laughed, and Chelsea suddenly realized that Mirabelle had been a very beautiful woman, once. "She's yours, Chelsea! I'll bring her over the moment Gannon finishes your barn."

"Mirabelle, I can't – I really must protest," Chelsea protested. "She's such a lovely cow, she'd fetch a good price. And haven't I gotten a wonderful enough present from you? Tempest is such a good horse. He's more than enough."

"Pish posh," Mirabelle dismissed. "Besides, this is an investment in you, Chelsea. I know and believe you'll be bringing in good income for the island chain. This is just…helping you along your path."

"But a _cow_?" Chelsea asked.

"Chelsea, hush," Mirabelle said. "Stop protesting. You're getting this cow tomorrow, whether you like it or not. You better like it."

Mouth agape, Chelsea could do nothing but acquiesce.

As she left the animal shop laden down with fodder and chicken feed (she had bought some, in preparation for the chicken coop and chickens she'd be having soon), she heard Vaughn's voice, talking lowly to Mirabelle.

"Was that wise, Mirabelle?"

"Pish posh, Vaughn. She's a good rancher, anyone can see that. She won the spring crop festival, you know."

"Giving crops just the right amount of water and sun is very different from caring for living animals."

"And she takes care of Tempest just fine! Besides, Chelsea is a pretty girl. I wish you'd warm up to her."

"Pretty?" Vaughn almost choked on the word. _"_Pretty_? Chelsea Harvest?!_ " The way he said it was incredulous, like he couldn't believe anyone could consider Chelsea pretty at all. Like the very idea was disgusting. Stuff stuck to the sole of his shoe.

_Well! _Chelsea seethed, making a loud clatter as she stomped away from the animal shop. _UGGGGH! Saying it like that, like I could never be…Ugh! I could kill him! Murderkilling could commence right now! That – that cowboy!_

She threw down the bags of feed and fodder and stormed into her house. The furious clacking of her laptop keys and occasional screams of, "UGH!" continued well into the night.

* * *

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**Now you're in for it, Vaughn.**

**Volcano Island next chapter! It was supposed to be this one, but, well...Chelsea needed animals and I needed to make her hate Vaughn. XD ;)**

**As always, reviews are cheesecake, and I love to hear from my readers! Constructive criticism is loved and adored also.**


	11. Chapter 11

**ranchgirlgotback**

Personal.

**Read more.**

You know what the disgusting thing about society is?! This obsession with prettiness! Like, what's up with that, huh? How come you get to judge me by my face? What about my abilities? My strengths?! Does it matter to you that I won the crop festival or that I take care of Tempest, or does it just bother you that your local rancher isn't a blonde-haired blue-eyed drop-dead gorgeous bombshell? Sorry, there's only room enough for one Golden Girl in this island chain, and that's Golden Girl herself. I'm afraid you're stuck with me, because there's no way I'm moving out of here! _You _get out, you – you black-hatted judgmental feeling-cool pig!

(Deep breaths, Ranchie.)

But you know what the actual, dreadful thing is?

I'm offended that he doesn't find me pretty. I buy into the whole pretty girl crap. And I _hate _it.

I shouldn't care. I shouldn't. But I do.

I should just care about my ranch and my horse and my future chicken coop and barn. But I'm sitting here, _seething_, because a man talked behind my back and basically told his boss that there's no way on earth I could be considered pretty.

It's infuriating. And the horrible part is that I care. I don't want to care!

Ugh.

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* * *

The spring season ended, and summer began. Gannon, true to his word, put up the barn and the chicken coop at a discounted price, and Mirabelle gave Chelsea the fawn-colored calf. Chelsea, after much deliberation, decided to name her Bessy the Second, in honor of an old cow back home.

Summer was busy, then, what with planting tomatoes and corn and grass, as well as building a pen for the chick that Taro had given her upon completion of the chicken coop. It stood at the entrance of the coop, a seven-by-seven stone pen, ready for Dee the chick's maturing so that she could spend more time outside.

She'd also made time to visit her grandmother at the spring every day. In fact, it was during one of those visits that Chelsea made the acquaintance of Nathan and Alisa.

Kirk had ferried her to Mystic Islands, then casually mentioned, "Oh hey, Missy Harvest. I saw a church bein' built near the Goddess Pond. Ought to be done by now, way Gannon was workin'. And I saw a strange pink house on the other island, too. Maybe some people moved in there."

"Oh, cool," Chelsea had said. "I'll go check it out."

And she did. Once she stepped onto the bridge leading to the Goddess Pond, she felt a wash of heat pulse through her, and she hurried to locate the Sun Stone. Just as she was stooping to get the stone (buried underneath the church bell), a man's voice said, "Hello."

Surprised, Chelsea quickly straightened up.

"Oh, hello," she said back, appraising the man. Pale, brown-haired, portly, dressed in the habit of a man of the Goddess faith. "Are you a priest?"

"I am indeed," he said, pleased. "I am Nathan. I came here with my acolyte, Alisa. Alisa?"

A pretty, red-haired girl nodded from a little behind him. "I am pleased to make your acquaintance," she said.

"I'm Chelsea Harvest," Chelsea introduced herself.

"What is that you have in your hand, Miss Harvest?" Nathan inquired.

"Oh, this is a Sun Stone. I don't know if you've heard, but…" And Chelsea quickly outlined the story of the Sunshine Islands, adding that the Mystic Islands had been the first of the islands to be raised from the sea.

"I see," Nathan nodded. "Well, this is the church. You are always welcome here, if you wish to pray for guidance in your quest."

"Thank you," Chelsea said, but secretly thought that if she'd rather sit at her grandmother's spring and speak to her directly. It would be easier.

Nathan and Alisa took their leave, and Chelsea set a pink cat flower adrift into her grandmother's pond.

"Grandmother," she greeted, as the goddess appeared. "Good afternoon."

"Hello, Chelsea," the goddess smiled. "I see you have another Sun Stone."

"And I see you have a church," Chelsea responded.

Grandmother smiled.

"Nathan has served my faith since he was very young. I am very glad that he is here," she said. "I feel that it may help people…remember me, and my faith."

"Like Vaughn," Chelsea muttered.

The goddess laughed.

"That silver-haired boy? No, he was never fond of the mystic or the faith. But he is a good man. He cares for the animals, and I find that I can bless him for that."

Chelsea bit her lip to suppress her thoughts, but her grandmother knew anyway.

"Although perhaps I ought to be offended that he does not find my granddaughter 'pretty'," she observed dryly.

"I don't care about that," Chelsea said firmly. "Or," she amended, "I am trying not to. I have a ranch to run, Grandmother, and islands to raise."

"Yes, you do," the goddess agreed. "Which is why, I think, it might be a good idea for you to visit the strange pink house over the way." She nodded.

Chelsea looked at the other island. A pink house was indeed erected there, with two twisted posts standing in front of it. It was a rather…_strange_-looking house, like a house Hansel and Gretel might have ventured into. Although it certainly wasn't made of candy.

"Go on, then," Grandmother said. Chelsea nodded a goodbye, and turned to go.

"And Chelsea?"

"Grandmother?"

"Give Vaughn a chance," Grandmother advised. "He just doesn't know how to word things."

* * *

Of course, once she ventured near the pink house, everything got stranger.

She located a Sun Stone near the left post, and almost turned to go, thinking that that was why the goddess advised her to go there. But then she heard _something _in the house, so she decided to knock and find out about the inhabitants.

Not hearing an answer, she should have really turned to go. But she didn't – she pushed right in.

And that was where she met a strange blonde who introduced herself as a Witch Princess – or _the _Witch Princess – and was apparently obsessed with teddy bears, potions and magic.

_That explains the island, I guess, _Chelsea thought.

Then she was introduced to a cute little witch child, named Witchkins, who was apparently obsessed with frogs and beating the Witch Princess at magic.

They were just…strange, but kind of intriguing, too. As Chelsea left the cottage with the Witch Princess's, "If you find something I can use in my potions, bring it to me!" ringing in her ears, she found herself wondering what kinds of things a witch might use in her potions that a rancher girl might easily acquire.

* * *

"Alright, sprites?" Chelsea asked, and received a nod from the rainbow of sprite faces assembled before her again.

She had eight Sun Stones, this time. Two from Mystic Islands, one from Lighthouse Island (and hadn't that been a surprise, sailing in from Ranch Island and feeling a rush of warmth from the abandoned island?), and the rest given to her by the islanders, who had picked them up. Mirabelle, Felicia, Gannon, Charlie, Eliza…Sabrina's book was probably really on to something when it said that the stones only appeared when a hero needed them.

"Let's raise Volcano Island this time!" she said. "That's what the goddess told us to, and let's do it!"

The sprites cheered, and Chelsea stood back to let the ritual commence once more.

It went easier this time, the magic knowing where to go and how to flow more effectively. Agete also didn't slump at the end of the ritual.

"It's getting easier," Agete confided, when Chelsea questioned him. "I'm learning to speak with the ancients better. Or maybe it's because the goddess's strength is here, and the islands notice that."

Either way, Kirk told her that he had seen a volcanic island rising in the south of Verdure Island. Chelsea had asked to be ferried there to check it out, and Kirk had agreed.

There she'd seen another Sun Stone, near a sluggish lava flow, and pocketed it with a grin.

Regis was inside the cave, marveling at the amount of ore he apparently 'knew just rested within these volcanic floors!'

"This will increase my wealth three times over!" he declared. "Chelsea, let me teach you some mining tricks so that you may join the ranks of my miners as a part-time worker! Remember to sell only to Collier Mining!"

Chelsea secretly thought that he didn't really need to be any richer, but held her tongue as he instructed her on proper mining techniques.

By the end of the day, she and Regis had amassed several "decent quality" amethysts, and a whole lot of junk ore. Regis curled his lip at the sight, but agreed to buy the amethysts off of her at a pretty good price. Chelsea went to bed, pleased that her wallet was fattening again.

* * *

"Just these seeds, Chen, please and thank you!"

"Always a pleasure doing business with you, Chelsea," Chen said graciously.

As Chelsea walked out of the general store, she chanced a glimpse at the purple-roofed house across the diner.

She'd been wanting to take Pierre up on his offer of 'creating a glorious medley of flavors' together, and today, she had quite a bit of free time, so…why not?

The door was resolutely shut, but the shutters were open. Chelsea took that to mean that the (incredibly hot cute noble aristocratic timelessly handsome) owner was still inside.

She took a deep breath, walked over, and rapped at the door.

"Come in," a distracted voice wafted out from the shutters.

Taking another deep breath, she turned the doorknob and walked right in.

"_OhmyGoddess _that's a lot of food," she blurted.

Pierre, standing at the counter of his massive kitchen, looked a little shamefaced.

Pierre's house was essentially a gigantic kitchen, with only the bed in the corner and a discreet little door saying that someone actually lived there. Pots and pans lined almost every wall, and there was a large bookcase filled with what seemed to be recipe books from all over the world, as the different languages on the spines seemed to attest.

It was undoubtedly the home of a Gourmet. And what sealed the deal on the whole thing was the positively titanic amount of cooked dishes on the counter of the massive kitchen. It seemed like Pierre had cooked for a feast, although – chancing a quick look around – there didn't seem to be _anyone else _there to eat it with him. Was he going to go around sharing food to everyone on the island?

Was _she _going to get a taste of Gourmet food?

Chelsea barely stifled a giddy squeal.

"Uh, hi, Chelsea," Pierre said. He chuckled weakly, gesturing at the cooked dishes. "Good of you to join me. I have a bit of a problem, as you can see."

_What, your massive feast or your massive hotness? _Chelsea longed to say. Instead, she raised an eyebrow as elegantly as she could and said, "The food?"

"Yes, the food," Pierre said. "It's just – I came across a crop of most delectable tomatoes, and I just couldn't resist! I wanted to create an entirely new tomato dish. And thus – " He gestured at the array of tomato dishes on the counter. "I may have gone a little overboard."

"Just a little bit," Chelsea agreed, moving closer. "It does smell heavenly, though. These look fantastic. Did you succeed?"

"Eh. Hehehe." Was Pierre _blushing_? "In making a whole new dish? Umm…no. But I did make a lot of improvements in the tomato dishes here! Some of them taste entirely different! Amazing innovation!"

"Quite," Chelsea said, edging closer. She looked up at him through her lashes, and began to twirl a strand of hair around her finger. "Sooo…what do you plan on doing with all of this?"

"W-well," Pierre stammered, face a definite tomato-red, "I was thinking you could share it with me? I can't eat all of it, so…"

"I'd love to," Chelsea smiled. _Victory! _she cheered. _Step one in Enthrall Pierre Gourmet has been successfully completed!_

"Please," Pierre said, "dig in."

* * *

A little while later, Chelsea was groaning. Pierre was groaning in harmony with her.

"I ate _waaaay _too much, Pierre," Chelsea moaned.

"I'm so full, too," Pierre said, rubbing his stomach. "But there's still so much!" He gestured toward the array of tomato dishes they still hadn't finished.

"I know!" Chelsea exclaimed. "Why don't we go around and give some to the other villagers? I mean, you made so much and we couldn't possibly have eaten it all. Maybe a little tomato feast is just what everyone needs."

"Genius!" Pierre said. "Okay, let's just pack this up…"

With the two of them working together, the tomato dishes were quickly packed up into picnic baskets. Then they left the kitchen, and started off at Taro's place.

"Hi, everyone," Chelsea smiled. "We're going around giving food to people because Pierre made too much today."

"Hi Pierre," everyone chorused, and the blond boy waved. Chelsea noticed the pinking in Natalie's cheeks, and a realization began to dawn.

_Pierre? _she mouthed to Natalie, and the pink-haired girl blushed scarlet and shook her head angrily, while trying to be subtle so Pierre wouldn't see. Chelsea smirked at her, but her heart was clenching. She forced herself to relax, so she could give a more genuine smile.

_If Natalie likes Pierre…shouldn't I…_

_Shh. Don't think about it! Not right now!_

Chelsea and Pierre exited Taro's, and made their way to Chen's and Mirabelle's. Then, they crossed the bridge to Regis's, chatting all the while.

"See, tomatoes are actually a regrowing plant," Chelsea was explaining. "I planted tomatoes like a week ago, and once they bear fruit and I pluck them, they'll bear fruit like a few days later again. They're not like onions, that once you harvest them, that's it, they're done."

"Tomatoes are actually a fruit, Chelsea, did you know? But then, nobody would put it in a fruit salad!" Pierre chuckled.

"Wait…what's that?"

_Clip, clop, clip, clop, clip, clop._

From quite far away, Chelsea and Pierre could make out a white…was that a horse?

"Is that a horse?" Pierre asked, puzzled. "Aren't you the only one who owns a horse here on these islands, Chelsea?"

"I…am..." Chelsea murmured. "That horse doesn't live here, and its rider…"

Its rider…had hair that was a very familiar shade of blonde…and clothes that were a very familiar spotless white…

_No, it can't be..._Chelsea tried to reassure her suddenly racing heart.

As his horse cantered down the lane, the rider let out a very audible gasp.

"_Chelsea_?"

And in that moment, when he pulled up in front of them, Chelsea saw a face she thought she'd left behind forever.

"_Will_?!"

* * *

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	12. Chapter 12

A brief image flashed into Chelsea's head, something she'd read once on Tumblr:

_…__making you wish that your day would begin with a "previously on" recaps of your life's various plot arcs…_

Somehow, after weeks of avoiding his name, speaking it felt like coming home, but also like ripping off the scabs on half-healed wounds, revealing too-tender new skin that would bleed at the slightest provocation. She was vaguely aware of Pierre staring at her, probably wondering how she knew this newcomer, but the vast majority of her was caught up in staring at her ex-boyfriend, at _The Boy_, losing herself in those pale blue eyes she thought she'd left behind forever.

She must be dreaming. She was probably dreaming. It was one of those bittersweet dream/nightmares she had occasionally, that Will was here and he had thrown off all the roles and wanted her to be _her_, dirt under her fingernails and everything.

"Chelsea," Will repeated, a note of wonder creeping into his voice. He dismounted from his horse _(Arthur, _the part of her mind that still obsessively remembered everything about Will whispered, _Arthur, King Arthur after the myths, King Arthur and his beloved wizard Merlin) _and reached out to touch her.

She jerked away.

His blue eyes filled with sadness. "Still?"

"Why are you here, Will?" Chelsea refused to touch him. No. That part of her life was over and gone, and he was supposed to be gone. He was supposed to be gone!

"My father – "

"Oh, yes, your _father,_" Chelsea bit out, before she could stop herself.

With a reproachful look at her, Will continued, "My father permitted me to take the yacht and travel the world, to find…peace." He stumbled over the word. "I had heard from my uncle about this place, how it was quiet and peaceful, and my cousin said it was conducive to reflection, so I set sail for here."

"Your uncle? You have family here?"

"Regis Collier. And Sabrina, my cousin."

Suddenly, the pieces began to fall into place in Chelsea's head. The cousin who loved to paint, but wouldn't accept a word of praise. The paintings of the ocean that covered Sabrina's walls in her fit-for-a-princess chamber. How Will used to talk about his uncle and how his parents wanted him to succeed like him so badly.

"Chelsea." Pierre was tugging at her sleeve. "Chelsea? Excuse me? Are you alright? How do you know this man?"

"Pierre," she said distantly. But before she could answer, Will had drawn himself up to his full height, and started introducing himself.

"Hello! My name is William Terry Louis Andrew Carrick Jonathan Dredge Hams Reading Roger Southwark Alwick Plymouth Junior Regison III."

Pierre looked a little dumbstruck.

"It is a mouthful, is it not?" Will was smiling, working that same old charm. "Fear not. You may call me Will."

"Mr. Regison," Pierre said formally. Will wilted a little, then immediately straightened up again. "How do you know Chelsea?"

"She is my ex-girlfriend," Will answered promptly.

Piere turned, huge-eyed, to Chelsea. Chelsea felt her heart clench.

"I – I gotta go," she stammered. "Pierre, I'll – I'll see you later, okay?"

"Chelsea! Chelsea, wait! Chelsea, please come back!" Will sounded desperate, begging…he seemed to have forgotten that he could have mounted Arthur, and given chase immediately. "Chelsea, _please_! Come back!"

_Come back. _That was precisely what Chelsea never wanted to do. As her booted feet reached the Sprout-Verdure bridge, she wondered if there was a place she could run to that was far enough away that her past would never find her again.

* * *

She ended up on Lighthouse Island, casting her line through blurred eyes.

Fishing was good. Fishing was easy. Fishing took her mind off of blond hair and blue eyes and –

She was vaguely aware of tears running down her cheeks, but she wiped at them impatiently and hauled in another fish.

From further away, she could see a motorboat zooming towards her. Her eyes widened as they caught sight of a pink-clad figure expertly piloting the vehicle.

"Sabrina?!" she called.

The pink-clad figure waved to her, bow flopping in the wind.

"So," Sabrina said, once she had docked. "Will and yourself."

Chelsea cringed. "Can we not talk about this?"

Sabrina looked at the red-rimmed eyes and tear tracks, and seemed to soften.

"Chelsea…" It was an unhappy breath.

"It's just. I ran away from this, from him. Why is he here? I don't want him to be." She sighed, and pulled in her line, winding it neatly.

"You were the girl, then. The one Uncle was complaining about?"

"Probably. We dated for a while." Chelsea closed her eyes, to prevent new tears from forming. "His parents didn't approve. I wasn't appropriate. Apparently, my family had dirt beneath our fingernails and weren't good enough for Regisons."

Rustling fabric from Sabrina, then Chelsea was enveloped in a soft, perfumed hug.

"It's okay, Chelsea," she whispered. "I promise, it's going to be okay."

* * *

It was not okay.

Word had apparently spread of Chelsea's ex being on the island, and that she had run off after meeting him again. Pierre swore up and down that he hadn't breathed a word, but Chelsea knew full well about secrets one tried to keep: the more you try to hide them, the more they broke free. She supposed she'd have to resign herself to it.

The older folks made no notice of it, except for Mirabelle casually mentioning that "I didn't know you knew the new islander, dear" and Taro cryptically saying, "I'm acting mayor here, you know. Should anyone bother you…"

"Oh, no, no, Taro," Chelsea had said quickly. "Nothing's a bother. No one's a bother."

Except Will was.

He was constantly _there_, lingering at the border of her property on Arthur, as if he wanted to cross over but didn't dare. On the days that Chelsea went into town, he always seemed to be on the beach, or close by, or purchasing something completely insensible where she was. One day when she was buying feed for Dee and Bessy, he was there, too, and when Julia had pointedly asked what he was doing there, he had blushed, stammered, then bought a cow bell.

"What is he even going to do with this?" Julia muttered to Chelsea as she passed by, putting the bell in a bag. Chelsea couldn't agree more.

The exact same cow bell ended up on Chelsea's doorstep a day later. Chelsea immediately went to the animal shop and returned it, loudly mentioning the fact one day at the café when she'd stepped in for a cuppa with Sabrina. Sabrina, picking up the hint, made sure to relay the fact casually one night at dinner with Will.

His entire posture had apparently drooped and he had become withdrawn the whole night, according to Sabrina's report the next day.

"I could punch him," Natalie offered, one day at the diner. "I could…break his nose. Then he'd go away and have expensive reconstructive surgery, right?"

"Won't work," Lanna countered, "he'd sue. I should know." She flipped her long blonde hair.

"Could we not talk about hurting my cousin in front of me?" Sabrina implored.

"City people," Natalie sniffed, then sighed. "What do you want us to do, Chelsea? Whatever you want."

Chelsea was sitting with them, posture dejected. "I honestly don't know, Natalie." She poked at the grilled fish, then put her fork down again.

"I could – I could write Uncle," Sabrina offered, hesitantly. "I could – I could say that he saw you here? He'd recall Will right away."

_I cannot have my son associating with backwater farmers! Especially not women with dirt under their fingernails!_

Chelsea closed her eyes at the sudden memory. It felt like a punch in the gut.

"Or…not," Julia said, seeing Chelsea's expression. She stroked Chelsea's hair. "Oh, Chelsea. What does he want with you?"

"I don't _know_!" she burst out. "It's just that he's always _there_! Hanging out wherever I go! I go to Volcano Island, he's there, marveling at the 'ferocity of nature', or so Regis tells me. Buying wheat at Chen's – what's he going to do with _wheat_?! And that ridiculous cow bell!"

Julia snickered.

"Do you still love him?" Lanna asked, point-blank.

Everyone stilled.

Chelsea opened her mouth, then shut it again.

"Now you done it," Natalie murmured.

"I – uh…I don't know," she admitted, in a burst of breath.

Lanna sat back.

"I think you should figure that out, first," the blonde girl murmured, "before Natalie punches him."

Natalie smirked.

* * *

Things eventually came to a head one morning, as Chelsea was watering her plants.

_Clip-clop, clip-clop, _followed by a hissed, "Shh! Stay!"

Apparently, Will was of the illusion that he could hide both himself and his blindingly white horse behind her shipping bin. Her quite small shipping bin.

She sighed.

"Will, I know you're there, I'm not blind." After a moment's consideration, she added, "Or deaf."

Sheepishly, the blond emerged from behind the bin, Arthur whickering softly. From the other side of the field, Tempest saw the new horse, and galloped over.

"Chelsea –"

A lot of people were saying her name quite unhappily recently, Chelsea thought to herself dryly. She answered, "Will."

"I came to apologize, for my deplorable actions the last time we laid eyes on each other."

Chelsea put down her watering can, sighing heavily.

"You mean, when we fought. Over my dream to have a farm and your father's dream of a perfect son and son's eventual wife."

_Will, I can't be a slave to your father's expectations! What about my dreams?_

_Chelsea, I understand you, I promise. But my father's viewpoint is that he sees how lovely you are, and asks why you sully your hands with earth. I mean, I concur, nature is breathtakingly beautiful. You know I admire your skill. But would you not be lovelier if not grime-streaked?_

_Grime-streaked? Is that what this is about, then? Your father doesn't think I'm pretty enough when I'm working? Well guess what, Will, I'm from a farming family! You can't take the Harvests from the earth!_

_I don't ask that you take yourself from the earth, only that you do not be so enthusiastic about crops and such when at a business dinner!_

_He asked about my family name! Obviously he knew the Harvests! Would you rather I titter and blush fetchingly and speak admiringly of your family's riches instead?!_

_The entire company was staring at you! Imagine, a lady like yourself, speaking so enthusiastically about hoeing and reaping and the growth time of strawberries!_

Will cringed. Obviously he remembered just as clearly as she did.

"Chelsea, I have dreamed of finding you again. I searched everywhere in the city for you, but you suddenly just disappeared. I had no idea where you were, I begged my father to help me search…Please, Chelsea."

"Please, what?"

Will took her hand in his, and although she jerked, she did not pull away.

Blue eyes locked on blue as Will begged, "Please give me another chance. Please let me prove that I am worthy of your heart once again."

_That's who I am! That's what I love! How can you ask that I tone it down?_

_Chelsea, please! Father says that if you do not behave accordingly, I can no longer see you!_

_Are you ruled by your father, William? Are your father's wishes greater than your love for me? _

_Chelsea, you have to understand, there are standards a Regison must uphold –_

_And I am a Harvest. A __**Harvest**__, not a Regison._

_Chelsea, please, I am begging you, if you love me –_

_If I love you? If __**I **__love you?! I never asked you to change who you are, pretty-boy rich kid who can't speak normal English to save his life! I never asked you to change, not even when my coworkers looked at me weird because my boyfriend is a weirdo! I just laughed and let the world be! Now you're asking me to change who I am, to hide what I love, because of your __**father?!**_

_Your coworkers are different, they are not –_

_Not what?_

_Not important! We are of a different class than teachers and tutors!_

_…__get out._

_Chelsea?_

**_GET OUT!_**

Softly, Chelsea asked, "Does your father know that you found me here?"

Will flinched.

That was all the answer she needed.

"Goodbye, Willam Regison the Third," she said, pulling her hand away.

"Chelsea, I still love you," Will whispered brokenly.

Chelsea paused, turned back to him.

"You're forcing me to play a role I don't want to," she said quietly. "And in the end, it would just hurt me. And if you loved me, you wouldn't want me to get hurt."

She turned away, and whistled for Tempest to leave Arthur. She had plants to water, and animals to tend to.

* * *

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**Guys, you have no idea how hard this was to write. I mean, you probably do, considering it took me like a week to squeeze this out. **

**I've known that Will was The Boy all along, but it was difficult to really convey how hurt Chelsea is and how oppressive Will's father is. I hope that bled through well.**

**Hello, new readers and favoriters! Thanks for reading this little fic of mine ;)**

**As always, reviews and constructive crit are cheesecake.**


	13. Chapter 13

**ranchgirlgotback**

Hello, my sweet potatoes! It's summer, which means I'm driven to stay inside during the noontime heat. No, we don't really have heat waves – too many trees around for that to be a real problem, we have lots of shade – but it's still super hot. I heard the city's having heat waves? Stay safe, everyone! Wear sunblock and bring hats or umbrellas!

Anyway, I'm enjoying the season, even the times when I'm chillin' in my house, and a bumper crop of tomatoes and corn just came in. Which means recipe time! Yaaay!

I'll be staggering the recipes to like, maybe twice a week. I have this really amazing chef as a friend – he hasn't told me whether he's just hiding out here or he actually does plan to live here forever – and he taught me a lot of tomato dishes. His ketchup is just…wow. It has transcended normal ketchups. It has become Superb Ketchup. Best Ketchup. The most amazing ketchup ever!

So, for today's recipe, we'll have this lycopene-rich homemade ketchup recipe, given to me by my chef friend, Spatula. (Before you ask, yes, I did ask him if I could post this on my blog. I'm not an intellectual property thief ;)) You'll need tomatoes, onions, salt, olive oil…

**Read more.**

* * *

**ranchgirlgotback **reblogged **dictionaryofobscuresorrows**

lethobenthos

_n._ the habit of forgetting how important someone is to you until you see them again in person, making you wish your day would begin with a "previously on" recap of your life's various plot arcs, and end with "to be continued…" after those will-they-won't-they cliffhanger episodes that air just before the show goes back into months of repeats.

* * *

**ranchgirlgotback**

Question: If a girlfriend likes a guy you have like, a teensy-tiny crush on (just a little bit, mind you), is it proper for me to give up gracefully and not flirt with him?

Answers enabled.

thefaultinourstarks: Yes.

charles-and-erik: Yes. I mean, Girl Code rule one. No stealing a friend's man.

archeology-flower-power: I wouldn't call it stealing, but if your friend likes him more than you do, it's only proper to let her have him.

sad-bootyful-tragic: Whatever makes you happy, Ranchie. I mean that. If you feel like stopping flirting with him is best, then go!

queenbeetchbaby: Friends are way more important than boys, Ranchie! Remember that. If the boy will tear apart the friendship, better to throw him away like a hot coal.

* * *

Summer waxed and waned, as summers often do. Chelsea found herself enjoying the season, even though Natalie moaned about the heat and how she couldn't work in such oppressive temperatures.

"Cheer up," she told her friend. "Summer means Cooking Festival! Are you practicing to impress Pierre?"

Natalie blanched, then blushed. "What do you mean Pierre? I don't want to impress him! Or anyone!"

Chelsea looked at Julia, and the two of them simultaneously rolled their eyes.

Chelsea found that her Tumblr followers echoed the decision she already had in her heart. She liked Natalie and relished being her friend, more than she relished the dream of enlightening Pierre to her stunning personality and causing him to fall desperately in love with her and move into her house and cook her breakfast, lunch, afternoon snacks, dinner, and midnight snacks every single day.

So she resolved to let Pierre be.

"If it's meant to be, it will be," she consoled herself, quietly.

Unwillingly, then, her mind turned to her ex-boyfriend.

Will was still haunting the islands, but thankfully, he had abandoned haunting her farm. Instead, he hung out at the beach, Volcano Island, his yacht…True to form, he was getting a very beautiful golden tan, instead of the red sunburn Chelsea had secretly predicted.

_Of course he'd get tanned, not sunburnt. He's basically perfect. I bet his genes code perfection in every cell._

* * *

The week the Cooking Festival came up, Pierre was _everywhere. _At the docks, unloading props he'd shipped over; at the meadow, setting up; at Taro's, Mirabelle's, Chen's, _everyone_'s, a flurry of purple and blond, convincing people to join.

"It'll be like an impromptu potluck!" he declared. "Everyone brings a dish, and everyone eats! Of course, there will be the tastiest dish, but it's a feast for all!"

"A festival of salad!" Elliot's eyes were sparkling.

"Weirdo," Natalie tossed out, carelessly. Elliot's eyes dimmed a little. "I'm just kidding, bro," she added, smiling at her brother and Pierre. "That sounds great. Just my bro's kinda thing."

"The theme will change next year, so I hope you are still interested then!"

"Free food's always interesting," Chelsea snickered, from Natalie's bed. Natalie nodded enthusiastically. "Who doesn't like free food?"

"I am glad the people on the islands know the value of good food," Pierre said, suddenly more serious. "In the city, it is diet this diet that, don't eat this don't eat that, it will make you fat…I know the value of health. But I also know the value of food. Food is vital. It brings people together and gives joy to the soul. Forgoing food for a so-called beautiful body, or to please others…it is silly. The only person one is required to please is oneself."

Chelsea suppressed a grin. Natalie's eyes, however, were bright, and her cheeks were flushed. Elliot, from the doorway, grinned at the two of them.

* * *

"Hi, Chelsea! What'd you bring?"

"Hey, Lanna!" she greeted the starlet. "Wow, you look great today."

Lanna preened. "Thanks."

Lanna did look great. Her gorgeous blond hair was caught up in a simple French braid, and she wore white shorts and a frilly green spaghetti-strap top. Long summer-tanned legs ended in green and pink sandals. In short, the starlet looked like she was going to a summer-themed photoshoot.

"Anyway, to answer your question, I have herb salad." She brandished the Tupperware she was carrying. "What about you, Lanna?"

A dark cloud seemed to pass over the blonde's face.

"I'm not really a fan of salads," she said quietly. "It was all I was allowed to eat back on tour."

"_Really_?" Chelsea asked, thunderstruck. "But I went to one of your concerts! My friends and I sent you like, a box of chocolates after. We got a thank-you note and your autograph."

"My manager…" Lanna started, then sighed. "I'm sorry. But thank you so much for sending me that! Come over to my house sometime, and we'll eat a lot of sweets, okay Chels? And I'll give you an autograph, too!"

Chelsea smiled. "Alright, Lanna. Thanks for the invite."

"You're my friend," Lanna insisted, brown eyes huge and adorable.

"Yes. You are."

Moving on, Chelsea caught a glimpse of pink and blonde. "Julia! Elliot!" she yelled.

The two turned, and she hurried over. "Hey, you guys," she grinned. "What'd you bring?"

"Herb salad," Elliot said.

"Oh, cool! I have herb salad, too."

"Is that allowed?" Julia asked.

"Probably," Elliot said. "I mean, salad is very changeable. There could be differences in the additional ingredients and stuff."

"Probably," Julia conceded.

"Anyway," Elliot continued, "it was difficult to collect all the ingredients, especially as some of them were seasonal. But my mother is a marvel and has preserves of _everything._"

"Her jam is amazing," Chelsea agreed. "What about you, Julia?"

She flushed. "It kind of…burned."

"_Burned_?!" Chelsea and Elliot chorused, horrified.

"Burned."

"But – but – " Elliot stammered. "Salad doesn't need to be…cooked over a fire?"

"It was when I was boiling the water to clean the herbs," Julia mumbled.

Chelsea exchanged a look with Elliot, and decided that _she did not want to know. _Elliot seemed to share the sentiment.

"Chelsea!" Pierre called out, then rushed over. A flurry of purple and blond he was, indeed. "Is that a dish I see?"

"Herb salad," Chelsea said proudly. "Oh, but Elliot has herb salad, too. Is that, like, allowed?"

"Of course!" Pierre said enthusiastically. "There are many regional and cultural differences in dishes, and tastes differ from person to person! Chelsea grew up in Forget-Me-Not Valley, while Elliot grew up here. It may be that there are different ingredients used in Chelsea's and Elliot's dishes, as there are some ingredients available in Forget-Me-Not Valley that are not available on the Sunshine Islands, as well the fact that Chelsea may prefer different ingredients than Elliot does! Food is a many-splendored thing , my friends, and it is simply marvelous how many variations there can be in one recipe!"

Utter silence for a moment, then Chelsea nodded. "Uh, thanks. Should I, like…give this to you?" She indicated her Tupperware.

Pierre took it, smiling hugely, and bustled off to place it amongst the array of salads on the table.

Elliot broke the silence. "Well, he's very passionate."

"Quite," Chelsea agreed, solemnly. "Natalie? Your thoughts?"

"Thoughts? What thoughts? I have a lot of thoughts. What thoughts should I be thinking right now?"

"Pierre-related ones," Chelsea said patiently, suppressing a grin.

"I do not have thoughts on Pierre Gourmet," Natalie said, in as dignified a manner as she could manage.

Chelsea opened her mouth to needle her further, then Pierre called out, "Hello, everyone! The Cooking Festival judging is about to commence, so everyone please stand by their entries and I shall get to you shortly."

Chelsea nodded to her friends, and she and Elliot walked to the table where their dishes were set.

"Good luck," Elliot told her.

"May the Goddess shine upon you," Chelsea responded. From somewhere very deep inside her, or maybe the surface of her mind and soul, she felt the Harvest Goddess smile.

Pierre proceeded down the line of participants, brandishing a fork and spoon. "All right, let the judging commence!" he declared.

He stuck a fork into Chen's entry. Bringing it to his mouth, he chewed carefully.

"It's…good," he said, finally. "Quite a nice medley of flavors."

For Chelsea's, he had, "What a rhapsody of tastebud-tickling!"

"A hymn to home-cooking, with that indefinable violin of a mother's love!" for Felicia's.

"I understand none of his music metaphors," Chelsea whispered to Elliot.

"Me too," he whispered back. "I wonder what he's going to say about mine?"

"A sonata of tastes," Chelsea said dryly.

"A minuet of flavor."

"Dear Goddess, what a taste!" Pierre exclaimed. Both jolted in shock. "Very subtle in the beginning, then bursting full-force into your mouth in a brilliant crescendo! How simply magnificent!"

"Uh," Elliot said. "Thanks?"

* * *

Elliot ended up winning the festival, amid exclamations from Pierre about "lingering aftertastes, like a coda that won't let go of your mind" and the more traditional praises of the islanders. He was awarded an orange wonderful, which apparently would mystically double the yield of any tool he upgraded with it. Chelsea was fascinated.

"So, like, you could put it in a milker and the milk would double? Out of nowhere?"

Elliot shuddered. "Please don't say the m-word, Chelsea, I don't like it at all."

"What, milk?" Chelsea asked. "I love milk! Sweet and cold, the bottle chilled in the stream, or maybe left overnight for the cream to rise…"

"Stop!" Elliot pleaded. Laughing, Chelsea acquiesced.

"But seriously. Other example, then. If I put it on a sickle and reaped some wheat, the wheat would double?"

"Yup!" Elliot said. "Wonderfuls are the Goddess's gift to the south, you know. I mean, of course you know the story."

"What story?"

"You don't?" Elliot gaped.

"I grew up in Forget-Me-Not Valley, you remember."

"But – that's kind of south," Elliot said. "And Grandpa talked about Wonderfuls being found in the valley mines. You mean you don't know the story of the Wonderfuls?"

"Nope."

"Wow. It's like a bedtime story to kids, you know, I think it's Charlie's favorite. But it goes like this…A long time ago, humanity learned to enchant copper, silver, gold, mystrile…you know, the traditional metal tools. They could do superhuman things with those tools, because they helped the humans channel the residual magic they had from when they were created by the Old Gods. But when the north grew crowded, people began to migrate to the south.

"The first migration had a blacksmith with them, but he died on the voyage. When the immigrants settled, they only had the tools they brought, and no way of fixing them if they broke or of making new ones. So they had to import tools, or depend on traveling salesmen.

"They managed, somehow, but it was very difficult. The son of the blacksmith was very sad about the state of affairs, and blamed himself for not learning and mastering his father's craft. He was very young when his father died, maybe twelve, and couldn't have learned smithing anyway, but he still blamed himself.

"He tried to learn smithing independently, but all his attempts to mix magic with metal and make tools were failures, for his talent did not lie in magical metalwork, but in cooking. People think he _may _have been an ancestor of the Gourmet family, but it's never been confirmed. Anyway, he was a great chef, but he couldn't stop blaming himself for not being a blacksmith. He'd cook for a living, but at night he'd try to work the metal. When he failed, he'd mourn.

"One day, when he was lamenting, the Goddess appeared to him.

" 'I have seen your sorrow,' she said, 'but I do not understand it. Why do you blame yourself for something you cannot control? The Old Gods did not make you a smith, they made you a chef. Why then do you push for something that cannot be?'

" 'Because now my people suffer,' he responded. 'It is difficult for us to farm and fend off predators with worn tools and very little magic. Had I only learned smithing, I could have helped them.'

" 'I see,' the goddess said. 'Then, behold, I have given thee the solution. Look not to the work of your father, but to your own.'

"And she vanished, leaving behind several colored books.

"The man picked up the books, and suddenly, knowledge flooded into his mind. Don't ask me how, Chelsea, but that night, he took the colored books and mixed them with several ingredients and created the first Wonderfuls.

"When he produced the circles, he was at a loss to define these things. What were they? How would they help the townsfolk? But then he felt the goddess speaking into his mind, telling him to fetch his father's old tools, and she would show him the way. She guided him to etching holes in the tools, and placing the Wonderfuls in the slots he made. The moment he swung the tools, he felt the magic coursing through his veins, and he knew he had just found the solution to their problems.

"The southern people have used Wonderfuls ever since."

"Wow," Chelsea said, softly. "That's a…wow. That's a really nice story."

Elliot smiled, then swigged some water. "Now you know a little more about the south, you northie," he joked.

"Yep," Chelsea said, thinking deeply. "Wow."

_He was a good child, _the goddess suddenly spoke, in her mind. _The man to whom I gave the recipe for Wonderfuls. He was a good child. Elliot is, too. Very much like him, really…_

_Does Elliot have an epic destiny, too? _Chelsea thought, humorously.

The goddess's voice was serious. _Dear child, everyone has an epic destiny. It is just that most people do not have stories and ballads and folk songs that tell of the stories that they lived through._

_It is just that not everyone knows of other people's struggles and stories._

* * *

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**I actually know next to nothing about music other than what a musical layperson would know, so if I used the words wrong, please tell me and advise me on what would be a better replacement. :)**

**More mythos and backstory for y'all. I have these huge spiraling headcanons about so many aspects of the Harvest Moon universe. I feel super bad for Lanna...I've always loved how cute she was, but that cuteness hides some tragedy.**

**I wish I could art! Or photoshop. I really want to share my ideas of everyone's summer outfits. I mean, seriously, Sabrina? Cardigans in summer?**

**As always, dear hearts, reviews are cheesecake to me! (You may have figured out by now that cheesecake's my favorite food.)**


	14. Chapter 14

"A love song," Lanna sang, the sound drifting out from her green-roofed house. "A love song to you, brown eyes."

Chelsea, her hand raised to knock, was transfixed.

"A love song to your smile, and the way your laughter makes the whole world shine."

_Wow_, Chelsea thought, _she really does have a great voice. _Shaking herself out of her stupor, she knocked hesitantly on Lanna's door.

"Coming!" Lanna sang out. In a heartbeat, she was swinging the door open to Chelsea's smiling face.

"Hi, Lanna!" Chelsea greeted. "I was passing by and I thought maybe you'd like some company?"

"That'd be great!" Lanna agreed. "Come in, come in! I have just the thing. Pierre baked me some things recently and I still have tons in the fridgey."

"Pierre?" Chelsea asked, amused, as she entered Lanna's very pink home. Vinyls and fishing rods and posters of Lanna dominated the walls, proving Denny's Theory of Home Décor and Work/Hobby Correlation.

"Pierrey!" Lanna confirmed merrily. "You know, we were such _great _friends back in the city. Like, one time when I was promoting _Linnet Sings_, and I got a guest spot on _It Takes Guts To Be A Gourmet_, and Pierre was showing the audience how to make yam pudding, which is like my favorite thing ever_. _I ended up falling in love with Pierre's yam pudding and becoming super awesome friends with Pierrey."

"I didn't catch that episode," Chelsea said. "Maybe it was during one of the days I was tutoring overtime at school."

"Oh, it never aired," Lanna murmured, suddenly less buoyant. "It showed me eating sweets and absolutely reveling in it. My manager…well. I was supposed to be this superstar sweetheart who loved yoga and veggies and working out, not teeth-rotting sugar-loving girl who gladly ate stuff that went straight to her thighs. We re-shot one when Pierre was making salad, instead."

Not knowing what to say, Chelsea laid her hand over Lanna's, instead, in a silent attempt at comfort.

Lanna covered Chelsea's hand with her other hand, and smiled at the copper-haired farmer.

"Anyway, that's all over now. I fired my manager when I moved to the islands."

"Bet he loved that," Chelsea commented sarcastically.

"Oh, he did. Apparently no one would want to manage a washed-up one-hit-wonder with only one single under her bejeweled over-sequined faux-leather belt, anyway."

"Oh, Lanna…"

"No, it's fine," Lanna grinned. Suddenly, she was upbeat again. "I'm doing great! I have a couple songs written, and I'm going to make a comeback. Soon! It's going to be great. I'm going to take the world by storm again, just like when I released _The Caged Bird Sings. _You know, my super awesome hit single that became a movie's theme song? World tours! Sponsorships! Advertisements! Soon, Chelsea, I promise…the world will relearn the name of Lanna Linnet!"

But amidst the hyper upbeat demeanor, Chelsea could detect just the slightest hint of watery sparkle in the starlet's brown eyes.

Floundering, she cast about for a better conversation topic. "Anyway, umm…the food?"

"Oh! The food!"

Lanna quickly dished out some sweets – chocolate cake, and her beloved yam pudding – and then settled back at on the kitchen table.

"I've actually been writing a couple of songs for my comeback album," Lanna confided, as she bit into her yam pudding. "Umm. Pierre is _so _good at food. He plays it like a piano. You know, I told him once, his flavors are like music? And the metaphor totally resonated with him."

Suddenly, all of Pierre's musical metaphors became clear to Chelsea, and she almost choked on her (sinfully decadent) chocolate cake.

"Chels? Chels? You alright?"

"Fine," Chelsea managed, after a storm of coughing. "So…your comeback album?"

"Oh, yes! I've been dabbling in some party songs, but really, my strength is in the ballads. Nevertheless, I've been trying out some electro-dubstep, since they're dominating the charts right now."

"Electro-dubstep?"

"Like this! Muh-muh-muh-make it pop!"

Lanna leaped up and started gyrating.

"Purple is for royalty, don't you know you rule my heart? King of this pretty birdy, baby, baby, make it pop."

Chelsea dived to save the chair from falling, as Lanna lost herself in her hiphop routine. Impressively, she didn't even lose her breath as she executed a backflip. "Your head's a-crowned with purple and you-you-you-you own my heart. You own my heart!"

A double cartwheel, then Lanna sang, "Purple-purple make it pop!" and executed a perfect split.

Chelsea jumped up and started applauding wildly.

"Wooooh! Go, Lanna Linnet! I love you, Lanna!"

"Thanks," Lanna beamed, as she got up from the floor. "It's just a rough draft, but that's my requisite party song, _Purple (Make It Pop)_. Oh, you should hear it with full accompaniment in my head, Chels – bass pounding, all that stuff. It'd play so loud that every time you heard it, it'd be like an earthquake was pounding under your feet and into your heart."

"Your head's a-crowned with purple and you-you-you-you own my heart," Chelsea sang. "It's catchy! Super catchy. It'd go platinum! Double platinum! Triple!"

"Don't exaggerate," Lanna chided, but she was smiling. "It's the ballads, though, that I love the most."

And before she could be prompted, Lanna launched into song.

"A love song, a love song to you, brown eyes. A love song to your smile, and the way your laughter makes the whole world shine."

"I heard you singing that earlier," Chelsea said, as an aside. Lanna smiled, then sang, "You're sunlight on a dark day, love, keep shining bright on me. Keep touching me like that, my love, and you'll make my whole world shine." Then, higher and clearer than ever: "Shine, shine, shine!"

And though they weren't at a concert venue, Chelsea could imagine the stage lights shining on Lanna's face, her fans held completely under her spell. Lanna would be wearing a pure-white, floor-length gown, so white the stage lights would catch it and play upon it. Only she and the piano would be onstage as the last notes would linger hauntingly in the air as she sang, softer, sweeter than ever, "You make me shine…"

Slowly, Chelsea rose to her feet and started clapping.

Lanna dropped a curtsy, blushing all the way.

"That's…indescribable," Chelsea whispered. "Lanna, seriously. It's beyond beautiful. It's transcended beautiful, Lanna, it's…"

"No need to flatter me," Lanna said, but she was a very fetching shade of pink. "Do you really think it's that lovely, Chels?"

"Yes!" Chelsea exclaimed. "Your voice…wow. More than lovely, enchanting. That song could launch your comeback, Lanna, just with the way you sing it."

"Oh, I'm not sure about that," Lanna demurred. "I'm thinking maybe _Purple (Make It Pop) _would be a better launch. It shows I'm up-to-date. Current. And that I can break it down, yo." She did the splits again, grinning wickedly.

"The music vid of that would be fun," Chelsea agreed. "But what people are really looking for is meaning, Lanna. And your ballad, umm…"

"I haven't decided on a title for it yet."

"Your unnamed ballad has meaning in droves."

Lanna was prettily pink again, and Chelsea wished she could portray this to the world: Lanna Linnet, smiling in genuine happiness, a forkful of yam pudding in her hand. This was a Lanna Linnet people could fall joyfully in love with – sweet, enchanting, quirky, bubbly, not the blonde yoga-loving veggie-eating hyperactively laughing one-hit-wonder. This Lanna was chock-full of real personality, not the caricature she had been forced to portray.

Just then, a look outside the window showed her a setting sun.

"Oh!" Chelsea exclaimed. "It's getting late now, Lanna, but thank you so much for the impromptu concert and the delicious food. I loved it. I love you," she added, smiling. "It's awesome. Lanna, I promise I'll buy your album the minute it comes out. The second. I'll preorder it and get your autograph on it the second your album comes out."

"Thank you so much, Chelsea," Lanna smiled. As the starlet ushered the rancher out the door, they shared a quick hug and Chelsea left, smiling, her head full of song.

* * *

**ranchgirlgotback**

Ranchie is currently listening to: The Caged Bird Sings

I don't know why, but recently I've rediscovered a love for Lanna Linnet. She actually has this really lovely voice, and the lyrics for _The_ _Caged Bird Sings…_wow. I wish she'd make a comeback, the world is missing out!

Comments are enabled by Disqus.

enchantedtomeetyou: Lanna Linnet? Who's that?

rosesandthornystems: She's like, at rehab, for drugging up when her follow-up singles bombed. Serves her right, she was such a loser at the It Takes Guts to be a Gourmet salad episode.

alanismorissetteismyqueen: Don't you remember the way the netizens made fun of her at that Guts to be a Gourmet episode? She was like, "Ummm, salad, wow!" Who DOES that? Who loves salad?

randomhaterhatin: Whore much? She's so Botoxed, she doesn't even have brain folds anymore.

game-of-thr0nes: I agree, Ranchie! Lanna Linnet is AWESOME. Wherever she is, I hope she's not listening to her haters.

* * *

Summer continued on, and Chelsea amassed bushels of corn and tomatoes, which were happily shipped off by Taro and his family. She also started planting onions, which made Pierre very happy, as "there are a thousand and one recipes that include onion, Chelsea! How simply marvelous that you provide me a steady source of them. Keep them coming, Chelsea, and I shall purchase the first fruit from you always!"

She also made acquaintances with a newcomer on the island, an Easterner named Lily. She was striking, with deep dark hair beaded with what looked like jade, a penchant for always dressing in red silk, a very formal way of talking, and a vested interest in valuable and shiny things.

"I have a feeling," Lily said, as they both looked up at Volcano Island, "that this mine is full of pretty shiny things."

"Can you go in without getting hurt?" Chelsea asked, interested. "The miners have to don some enchanted equipment to do so, because there is great risk of burning or being trapped inside. I mean, lava…?"

Lily smiled, and tapped the jade beads in her hair. "I too carry enchantment, Chelsea. I am protected by the spirits of my ancestors and by the magic they have woven. I walk into danger unharmed."

Dee the chick and Bessy the calf also matured into Dee the chicken and Bessy the cow, respectively, and Chelsea found a new delight in sitting on the stone fence of Dee's pen, watching the chicken cluck around and peck at worms and things. Likewise, she also found joy in sitting inside the snug, warm barn, stroking Bessy and reveling in the clean hay and fodder smell of the place.

The day after she decided to purchase another cow from Mirabelle, the lady showed up at her door, carrying a basket with two kittens, one black and one white.

"Hello, Chelsea," the kindly lady smiled. "A friend's cat recently had kittens, and she couldn't provide homes for these two. I was hoping you could take one of them?"

"Oh," Chelsea breathed, and dropped to her knees. She held out a hand to the kittens, and waited for them to come investigate. "What darlings!"

"They're very good mousers, dear," Mirabelle encouraged. "Their parents were excellent, and just today I found them tag-teaming a mouse in our feed bins! They're young yet, but they'll definitely be very good farm cats. Which will you choose, dear?"

Just then, the little white kitten bumped her nose against Chelsea's hand.

"This one," Chelsea said decisively, carefully picking up the little white kitten. The black one mewed in displeasure. "My little…" she carefully checked the little one's genitals "…snow queen Elsa."

Mirabelle laughed outright. "I do so love your name choices, dear. Alright them, you little tom, up you get!" The black kitten jumped into the basket she was carrying, and curled up into the warm soft flannels inside. "I have a home in mind for this little one, so don't think on him too much. Goodbye Chelsea, goodbye, Elsa! Thank you so much again."

* * *

The twenty-first of summer was Elliot's birthday. Natalie went around on the twentieth, inviting people to their house for a surprise party.

"So the idea is, we _totally _ignore Elliot the whole day," she shared excitedly to the gaggle of girls gathered in the diner. "I mean, not ignore, _Julia_," she said pointedly, causing the halfway-to-protesting blonde to blush and everyone to laugh. "But pretend we don't remember it's his birthday. Yes, even you, Chelsea, Miss-I-Have-A-Magic-Calendar-Where-I-Recorded-Everyone's-Birthday! Don't give gifts to him or anything, just say hey and move on. Then six pm on the dot, show up at the house. I've already plotted this out, everyone just needs to follow their roles. When Elliot shows up at the door, everyone goes yaaay happy birthday biggest dork on the planet!"

Lily whispered to Chelsea, as an aside, "Her words are insulting yet her tone is very fond. Is this the way your friend expresses love to her brother?"

Silently, Chelsea boggled at how quickly Lily grasped the dynamics between Natalie and Elliot, when Elliot could barely grasp it himself. "Yes," she whispered back.

So on the twenty-first of summer, Chelsea spent the day putting corn, tomatoes, and onions into her shipping bin at one-hour intervals, then calling down to Taro, "Taro, I've put in a new shipment! Can Elliot come and get it?"

"No problem!" he always hollered back, being party to his granddaughter's plot. "Elliot, get movin'!"

And thus, poor Elliot was forced to run back and forth from Lenore Ranch to the little shed where the Petersons kept the crates for boxing perishable crops. It was hot, heavy work under the summer sun, because Chelsea had had a bumper crop and she had lots of things to ship. Also, Elliot needed to be very careful when carrying the crops, because it wouldn't do to have them bruise. Chelsea felt sorry for him, carrying crops and things and never uttering a word of complaint or sadness that everyone seemed to have forgotten his birthday.

Finally, 6pm struck, and Chelsea got the all-clear from Natalie to stop Elliot's torture. She patted the poor, panting guy's back and said, "Elliot, you did a lot of hard work today. Fancy some blueberry juice to perk you up?"

Elliot beamed. "If it wouldn't be too much trouble?"

"No trouble at all," Chelsea said, bustling into her kitchen and getting the chilled blueberry juice she had prepared. "Here you go. There're a lot of blueberry patches around the islands, I've been thinking of transplanting a few so I don't have to go foraging for them next summer."

"I'd be very happy to help you with that," Elliot offered. This guy. He was definitely the epitome of Mr. Nice Guy. "I think we have some root bags at home."

"If it wouldn't be too much trouble," she parroted, then laughed. "Go on home, Elliot, and thank you so much for today."

"Accompany me?" Elliot asked. "I know Mom would have prepared a great dinner, at least…"

"A great dinner?" Chelsea feigned curiosity. "Why, what's up?"

"It's my…" Elliot began, then cut himself off. "No, Mom always prepares a great dinner when she knows it's been a busy day. And it's almost always busy, so…yes. She'll have made too much, so come to dinner with us?"

"With pleasure," Chelsea smirked wickedly.

They kept chattering on about inconsequential things, until they reached the threshold of the Peterson family home.

"That's odd…it's dark," Elliot murmured, as he fumbled with the doorknob. "And locked. It's usually never locked…Wait a moment, Chelsea, I've got the key here…"

He twisted the key a little, then shoved.

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY, ELLIOT!" everyone screamed, and the lights flicked on.

"Who – what – _what_?" Elliot stammered, a huge smile breaking onto his face. "Natalie, you didn't forget?"

Natalie was at the forefront of the throng that was made up most of Sunshine Islands' residents. She grinned at him, thumping his back solidly. "As if I'd forget the day Mom spawned a dork," she mocked, then grinned again. "Happy birthday, dork prince! Twenty-three. Who'd have thought. Most woulda thought you'd've died from nerd poisoning by now."

"Oh, Natalie," Elliot breathed, eyes shining, then threw his arms around his sister and hugged her tightly.

"Aawww," everyone chorused.

Felicia glided forward, kissing her son on both cheeks. "Happy birthday, my sweet boy," she murmured. Then Taro limped forward, rapping his cane on the floor. "You're a good boy," he said gruffly. "Hope you have many more years to live, eh?"

"Yes, Grandpa," Elliot said, smiling at the old man.

"Let's eat!" Natalie proposed, and everyone cheered.

It was a very happy birthday, really. Everyone was there – the girls, the guys, their parents…even Regis had deigned to come down from his mansion. Sabrina, of course, was delighted by this occurrence, as her father rarely joined in social activities. She was a bustle of flowy pink and purple skirts, getting her father food as he debated prices and merchandise with Chen. Charlie and Eliza were running wild, stuffing their faces with sweets. Nobody really wanted to stop them, either, although Chen and Gannon would have the mother of sugar crashes to deal with later.

Will was there, Chelsea noticed, but he hung around Regis, mostly. He did wish Elliot a happy birthday, and when Chelsea saw him, her heart didn't feel like curling up and dying anymore.

_Good thing_, she thought, and decided to smile at him. A split-second of surprise showed on his face, but he smiled back.

"It's time to cut the cake!" Felicia declared. "I'd just like to say thank you to Pierre, who gave me the recipe for this lovely cake. Everyone, sing!"

"Happy birthday to you," everyone obediently sang, "Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday, dear Elliot…"

…Lanna's voice, holding the highest note with ease…

"Happy birthday to you!"

Everyone clapped, huge smiles on their faces, and none was larger than Elliot's as he took in his mother's lovingly made cake.

It was a simple sheet cake, but with artful decorations of vegetables and such on it. "Just fondant," Felicia assured everyone, "not actually vegetable-flavored. It would rather ruin the point, wouldn't it?"

In the middle was carefully iced, "_Happy 23__rd__ birthday, Elliot! Love, your family and all the Sunshine Islanders._" Then at the edge of the message were four little fondant people – one old man, stooped over a cane, a tall woman with flowing pink hair, and a boy and girl with pink hair, who seemed to be arguing with each other.

Chelsea rather failed to stifle a snort at that. Natalie definitely did.

There were no candles to blow out, so Elliot quickly cut the cake and started doling out slices. First he gave one to his mother, smiling graciously, then to his grandfather, sister, and then finally, with a shy smile, he presented one to Julia.

He hurriedly gave one to Mirabelle, too, but everyone saw the sweet smiles shared between Mr. Nice Guy and the sweet Golden Girl.

Everyone soon had a slice of cake, and were happily eating away.

…All except Vaughn.

He was frowning down at the slice of cake he had in his hand, where a little fondant carrot rested.

"It's a carrot," he stated to Julia. "I hate carrots."

"Oh, for Goddess's sake Vaughn, it's just fondant," Julia sighed. "Look, if it makes you any better I'll switch with you. Here. Turnip fondants for carrot fondant."

"It's a carrot. That makes it carrot cake."

"Goddess," Julia said, exasperated. "It's just sponge cake! Go on, Vaughn, I've taken your carrot fondant. Just eat the damn thing already, Goddess grant me patience."

"Careful," Vaughn said dryly. "If Elliot hears you swearing he'll lose the honey-haired wholesome sweetheart image he has of you."

Julia blushed prettily, but stood her ground. "Elliot isn't in the equation here, Vaughn, the cake is. Go on and eat it, Felicia baked it, it's _good_."

Just then, Vaughn caught sight of Chelsea watching them amusedly from the sidelines. "Be right back," he said, and made way to Chelsea.

Chelsea raised her eyebrows as the cowboy made it to her. "What's up, Vaughn?" she said. And if it was a touch cool, well, she was remembering the last time they interacted with each other.

"I got something for you," he said. "Found it while traveling. Thought it was one of the rocks you'd been collecting, so I held on to it for you."

And from his pocket, he withdrew a Sun Stone.

"Well?" he asked, when Chelsea failed to respond. "Aren't you gonna take it?"

Chelsea jerked, then smiled at him, all coolness gone. "Thank you so much, Vaughn," she said, taking the Sun Stone from his hand. "This is really helpful, I'll soon have enough for Mushroom Island! Thanks."

"Mushrooms are good," he said gruffly, then turned to leave.

"Wait!" Chelsea cried out.

He turned halfway, waiting.

_Why did you say I wasn't pretty? Does this mean you believe in my quest now? Do you understand what I meant when I said the Harvest Goddess was important? Are you happy traveling and never staying in one place for long?_

She settled for the least cutting and personal option, saying lamely, "I'm sorry about the way I acted the day we first met. You know…the debate. When I bombarded you with the Harvest Goddess."

"It was my birthday," he said expressionlessly.

"Oh!" Chelsea said, blushing. "Well…I'm sorry. Again. Doubly. It probably wasn't a very good birthday present, huh? Let alone an introduction…"

"I didn't mind," Vaughn murmured. "It was…invigorating."

Then, as if sensing he'd said to much, he turned around and left, leaving Chelsea gaping, the warmth of the Sun Stone in her hand.

_Invigorating…?_

When Chelsea went to sleep that night, her dreams were filled with warmth of grazing fingers and deep purple eyes and a gruff voice saying, "Invigorating…"

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**I am so ridiculously proud of this chapter I can't even.**

**I really wish I could art. I have ideas for Sabrina's summer outfit - nothing flashy, it's not her style, but maybe a pink maxi skirt and a purple top and everything's sweet and swishy and stuff. And Vaughn in a fitted black shirt and dark wash denim. TELL ME YOU'RE NOT DROOLING.**

**I love writing Elliot and Natalie, their dynamic is awesome.**

**Lanna's haters are awful, I know. Even the ones that are "indifferent" to her are still harboring some sort of dislike. I really blame the manager. Wrong handling of her career all the way.**

**Also: the debut of Lanna's lyrics! I've got my imagined tune for Purple (Make It Pop) stuck in my head now...**

**Your reviews are cheesecake! Mwa!**


	15. Chapter 15

The next day brought banging on her door and a very familiar voice yelling, "Oy, Chelsea! Wake up and let me in!"

"_Goddess_, Denny," Chelsea moaned in exasperation, rolling over and putting a pillow over her head to muffle the noise. "Leave me alone, fish-brain! I need sleep!"

"Let me in, turnip-face!"

"I'M SLEEPING!"

"IT'S SUNRISE! I THOUGHT YOU GOT UP WITH THE SUN!"

"IT'S FIVE FIFTY-FIVE, SEAWEED HAIR! I GOT FIVE MORE MINUTES!"

"MY HAIR ISN'T SEAWEEDY! YOU'RE A PUMPKIN HEAD!"

That did it. Furious, Chelsea got up and flung open the door, growling, "I have a right mind to sock you in the nose, you overly purple fish-brain!"

Denny stood there, grinning. "You already used fish-brain, tomato-face," he said, tugging at her bandana. "Sweet Sedna, you wear the bandana to bed?"

"_You _wear your bandana to bed."

"No, I don't!"

"Yes you do!"

"IF YOU TWO DON'T GIVE UP YELLIN' IN EACH OTHER'S FACES RIGHT NOW GRANDPA SAYS HE'S GON' SMACK YOU!" Natalie yelled, her voice carrying faintly from the Peterson homestead. Rather fainter, they could hear Taro holler, "YOU KIDS AIN'T DEAF YET! YOU GOT NO NEED TO BE YELLIN' WHILE YOU'RE A FOOT AWAY FROM EACH OTHER!"

Denny and Chelsea looked at each other, abashed.

"This is _your _fault, fish boy."

"Excuse me, farm girl?" Denny started, then shook his head. "Nah, I got no time for this! I just wanted to invite you to the fishing festival tomorrow."

"I'm gonna kick your butt," Chelsea grinned. But then she soured. "Couldn't you have told me this at a reasonable hour? Like, maybe while I was feeding Dee and Bessy and Wreath? Around _ten_, instead of five fifty-five?"

"I gotta get out to sea that time and cast the nets," Denny said apologetically.

Chelsea bit her lip, slightly embarrassed. She'd forgotten that her best friend had work, like her, just not as sunup-sundown as hers was. After all, he did supply the entire island population with fish, and shipped quite a lot, too. She'd seen the cargo on the ships that carried away their produce; Denny's fish were always good, firm and large, packed on ice to keep from spoiling as it traveled away to the different cities, where people would buy them for sushi, sashimi…It was amazing what Denny could do with his one boat. There were fishing liners from the city that didn't catch half as much as he did.

"Oh," she said lamely. "Okay."

"So you'll come?" Denny asked, with a huge smile. "I'm counting on you and your awful technique, okay?"

"For the last time, Denny, my technique's not awful," she sighed. "It's won several fishing contests back home, and it'll win this one too!"

"Only 'cuz I'm not competing," Denny smirked.

"Oh? Why?"

"We had a big powwow about it a couple of years ago," he said. "Everyone agreed I was way too awesome at fishing to compete. I'd've knocked everyone out of the water."

"Dream on, fish-guts!"

"Whatever, strawberry-cheeks." But Denny was grinning, and so was Chelsea. "I'll see you tomorrow, a'right? Ten AM!"

"I'll be there," Chelsea promised. "Should I bring a fish or do we fish at the island?"

"Bring one," Denny said. "Alright, I'm off, farm girl. The fish aren't going to catch themselves!"

And with that, he was off, Popper hollering, "Bye, Chelsea! Bye, Chelsea!"

Chelsea took a moment to wave at Popper, then turned to her chores.

She watered her crops, marveling at how quickly the tomatoes were sprouting again, hard little green ones that would soon turn into rich, ripe red. The corn, too, was doing well, and the onions were, as always, a hardy bunch.

"It's a good little farm, isn't it?" Chelsea said proudly, talking to the air. "Good Bessy, Wreath," she added to the two cows, who were placidly chewing their cuds in the pasture pen, content to be still after a vigorous milking. "Thank you for your milk. And you too, Dee!" She scooped the chicken up carefully, stroking the snowy white feathers. "Who knows? You might be a champion chicken someday. In fact, you definitely will! Come next year, they'll see! Dee the champion chicken from Lenore Ranch!"

"You know, they say talkin' to yourself's the first sign you're going mad."

"Goddess!" Chelsea yelped, whirling. Dee squawked indignantly.

Vaughn stood a little behind her, smirking.

"Careful, don't drop her," he coached. Chelsea set Dee down, stroking the glossy wings in apology.

"Goddess, Vaughn, you startled me," she said. "What are you doing here?"

Vaughn held up a basket covered with some flannels. "Mirabelle sent me over with this. Said she'd have gone, but a cow's birthing and she couldn't be away."

"What is it?...Oh!"

From underneath the covers, two dear little black noses peeked out, and then two puppies emerged, shaking off the flannels.

"Puppies," Vaughn said, unnecessarily.

Chelsea was already up close, petting the two little pups. "Oh, you little darlings," she cooed. "You cuties. Hi there doggie!"

"Mirabelle said to pick one."

Chelsea looked up.

"Wait, what? Mirabelle's giving me another pet? Oh, I can't, she's given me so much already…"

"You mean, the kitten her friend needed to get rid of and the horse that some rich idiot bought and then realized he couldn't handle?" Somehow, Chelsea wasn't sure how, Vaughn managed to inject a word of derision in just one sentence. "Believe me, those animals are better off in your care. The kitten might've been drowned if you hadn't taken it in, and the horse…who knows? Shot for meat, maybe."

Chelsea sucked in a breath at the thought of Elsa drowned, and Tempest shot and butchered. She shuddered.

"And the cow," she managed to say after a moment, raising her chin. "The cow you weren't sure about her giving to me."

Vaughn looked a little abashed. But throwing a glance at the pasture pen, he regained his cool.

"Well, you did a decent job with her," he conceded.

_Seems giving crops the right amount of sun and water's not that different from caring for living animals, _Chelsea longed to say, but held her tongue.

"Just pick," Vaughn said, shoving the basket at her.

Chelsea sat cross-legged on the ground, and gestured for Vaughn to hand her the basket. The two puppies crawled out of the basket, and she held her hand out to them.

They were English Shepherd, Chelsea noticed, which made her grin. They had English Shepherds back at home, too; good all-around farm dog, able to herd the livestock and poultry and get rid of vermin and chase away vagrant dogs and protect the farm, with equal skill and excellence in every area. One puppy was clear sable and white, and the other was brindle.

"Aren't you two just darling?" she cooed, and held out a hand to them invitingly.

The sable and white advanced immediately, sniffing and licking her palm. The brindle one stood a little aloof, preferring to stand and look at her.

"Come here, sweetie," Chelsea coaxed. "Here, little brindle puppy."

The brindle puppy looked at her, but didn't budge an inch. On her lap, the sable and white puppy was wriggling happily.

"Seems to me you're better off pickin' the sable," Vaughn observed. "Easier to train, I think. The brindle's a bit wary. Stubborn."

"I'm stubborner," Chelsea retorted, but kept her voice sweet and coaxing. "Here, baby." She rummaged in her bag for a treat, and found the bit of grilled fish she'd made for lunch. "Whatever," she shrugged, and forked a bit over to the brindle puppy. "Here, sweetie, some fish."

The brindle puppy perked up, but carefully sniffed at it first, then her palm. Finally deciding she was trustworthy, he ate the bit of fish, then walked up to her, tail wagging.

She petted him, and grinned victoriously.

"I'll be," Vaughn murmured, then said, "You made your choice?"

"The brindle pup," Chelsea said. "The sable's a sweetie, but…I'm drawn to the brindle."

Vaughn looked as if he might protest, but even as Chelsea narrowed her glare, she could see the protests dying on his tongue. "Don't worry about him," Chelsea said, "I've experience with stubborn animals. I _am _a farm kid, you know."

"All right, sable pup, up. Up!"

Obligingly, the pup jumped up into the basket, and Vaughn took it up again, and made as if to leave.

"Wait," Chelsea said, eyes narrowing. "Where'd these puppies come from, anyway? Is this another one of Mirabelle's 'investments', 'farm-warming' gifts or whatever she'd call it?"

"A friend of hers had a dog that just gave birth," Vaughn said. "He'd've kept all the pups, but his's a small farm. Not much sense in feeding pups that won't earn their keep."

Chelsea frowned at his callous way of putting it, but was compelled to agree. Farmers were practical people, really; didn't have time for frou-frou dogs that lay around shedding all over the places. Anyway, dogs were dogs. One of Mom's biggest pet peeves were people who treated dogs like they were human. Dogs were dogs. Dogs liked being useful to their master or mistress, liked doing _work. _Unlike some people on this good green earth.

"Well, this one'll earn his keep alright," she said, patting the brindle. "Thanks for bringing him over, Vaughn."

"Be seeing you, Chelsea," he said, and left.

Chelsea was left there, petting her new little pup and smiling. Elsa walked up to the new arrival and surveyed it carefully.

The black pup surveyed her right back.

After a long moment, Elsa turned her back and hopped up on Chelsea's special rock, curling up the warmth there.

Chelsea grinned.

* * *

"So I have a new puppy," Chelsea told the girls, as they had a mid-afternoon snack in the café. It had become a thing for the six of them, she and Lily, Natalie, Julia, Lanna, and Sabrina; getting together maybe once a day, if possible. "I have no idea what to name him, but he's a darling."

"Sandor," Sabrina suggested, smiling a little wickedly.

"Clegane?" Chelsea said. "Well…I don't have a Sansa."

"Spot," Natalie said, ruthlessly practical. "Nothing wrong with a traditional dog name."

"He's not spotted," Chelsea explained. "Well, not really spotted. He's a brindle English Shepherd."

"Oh, that's a good dog," Natalie said, approvingly.

"Cerberus!" Julia said, eyes shining. "I've just read the most marvelous story about a three-headed dog that guarded the gates of the Underworld! It could guard the gates of Lenore Farm!"

"Thanks for implying my farm's hell," Chelsea said dryly, grinning. "Lanna, Lily, suggestions?"

Lily had been sipping her tea, but now she set it down with delicate movements, nary a clatter of porcelain against porcelain. "Pirate," she said. "It may be that your dog will dig up some fabulous treasure buried in your farmland, hidden there by long-dead pirates. In fact…Chelsea, may I – ?"

"I'd love to, Lily, but I'm pretty sure no pirates have ever set foot on the Sunshine Islands. And I need my land for farming, not treasure-hunting."

"Ah, well, there is always the mine," she said philosophically, and took up her tea again.

"Lanna? Suggestions?

"…Lanna?"

Lanna jerked back to herself. "Oh, sorry," she apologized. "Were you saying something?"

"Asking you what you thought would be a good name for my dog, but what were you thinking about?"

"…My comeback," Lanna confessed.

Everyone fell silent. Sabrina was the first to break the silence.

"Oh."

"Have you any plans for it?" Julia inquired cheerfully. "I can just imagine you onstage, Lanna – you were born for it!"

"A lot!" Lanna enthused. "Songs! Outfits! Choreography! My name in the marquee, huge and shining: _Lanna Linnet, Superstar! _And everyone on the islands gets tickets to my superstar concert tour! It'll be so amazing!"

Silence fell again, after Lanna's hyper, cheery announcement. Although Lanna's face was smiling hugely, it felt frozen, like it was a photo-perfect smile chock-full of artificiality.

"I'm sensing there's a but in there," Natalie stated, ever frank.

"No buts," Lanna said, still smiling, but her smile was sad.

"Then why do you look so friggin' sad?"

"Only…" Lanna said, turning her face away from them, "I'm not sure it's going to happen."

"Oh, why not?" Julia sympathized. "You can do anything you set your mind to, Lanna! We'll all support you!"

"Yeah, sure," Natalie said. She grabbed a doughnut from the stack on the table. Julia glared at her. "I mean, yes! Of course we'll support you, Lanna," she amended a little more naturally.

"I am certain that the world will appreciate your voice once more, Lanna," Lily said sincerely. "I have heard you singing from my hotel room, and it is very good."

"You know I promised you I'd buy your comeback ASAP," Chelsea contributed. Sabrina nodded enthusiastically.

"Of course, Lanna! You're our friend, we'll support you all the way."

"Thank you," Lanna smiled. "But as much as the loyal support of fans – and friends! – lightens my spirits, it's just…"

"What is it?"

"…it doesn't seem any record company wants to take me on," she mumbled.

It was sobering. Lanna kept her face turned away from the five of them, as if she didn't want to see their faces – or didn't want them to see hers. Chelsea faintly thought that it was a wise choice – it would have been painful for Lanna to see the pity that she felt on her face.

"Have you…been asking around, then?" Sabrina's voice was strained. Lanna nodded.

"Asking around a little, making noise that I may want to make a comeback, you know…but everyone I've talked to just kind of…shuts me down. They're not interested."

"Oh, don't say that," Julia reacted, ever the soother. "I'm sure you just haven't been asking the right record companies! I'm sure that there's a record company out there who wants to take on – "

"Lanna Linnet, the washed-up one-hit-wonder with only one single under her bejeweled over-sequined faux-leather belt," Lanna quoted her ex-manager bitterly.

"Oh, Lanna," Julia said helplessly, and looked to the others for help.

_I don't know what to do!_ Chelsea mouthed, just as helplessly. Then she ventured, "Your ex-manager's just _mean_, you know…"

"He's kind of right though," Lanna said bitterly. "_The Caged Bird Sings _was the only single of mine that sold. It doesn't make sense."

"I liked the movie," Sabrina offered.

"The movie made that single," Lanna said. "I never expected the director to like it so much. But he said it fit the movie, and then the movie was a blockbuster, and the single sold. Platinum. And then after that…nothing."

"I…uh…" Julia started, then stopped. "What if you built up the hype first? Like, told people that you were thinking of releasing? Not record companies, Lanna," she hurried to say, at the hurt/angry look Lanna threw at her, "but, like, normal people. It could pass around by word of mouth, you know, Lanna Linnet's thinking of releasing a new album. People gossip. It could work."

"Go on Twitter!" Chelsea enthused. "Connect with your fans, Lanna, your real fans. There'll be some bashers," she felt compelled to say, "but if you make noise on Twitter, it'll spread, and then soon record companies will be beggingto take you on."

"Twitter?" Lanna murmured. "I never thought…When I went to the islands, I went to escape," she explained a trifle rebelliously, as if she was defending herself. To whom, Chelsea didn't know. "So I cut myself off from all social media."

"Get back on," Chelsea advised. "When your fans see you there, they'll follow you immediately. That's your first step to regaining superstardom."

"Lanna Linnet, superstar," Natalie said, grinning. "I like the way it sounds, Lanna."

"I much prefer it to 'Lanna Linnet, washed-up one-hit-wonder', or whatever vicious lie someone told you," Lily said, smiling at Lanna.

"Lanna Linnet, superstar," Lanna said slowly, as if tasting it on her tongue. Then slowly, a smile began to spread on her face.

"You know what? I like the way it sounds, too."

* * *

ranchgirlgotback followed LannaLinnet

**Ranchie *sparkles* ** ranchgirlgotback

OMG Lanna Linnet's on Twitter! Follow her here LannaLinnet. So happy – she's one of my fave singers and I'm soooooo glad she's resurfaced!

sabrina_collier followed LannaLinnet

NatPeterson followed LannaLinnet

diamondlily followed LannaLinnet

JuliaHeartsAnimals followed LannaLinnet

**Ranchie *sparkles* **and 4 others retweeted **Lanna Linnet**'s tweet

LannaLinnet

Hey everyone, Lanna Linnet here! I've been gone for a while, but now I'm back and still singin'! Looking forward to sharing music with you! Love, LL

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**Hi, everyone! :) Sorry for the wait between chapters. Unfortunately, as Real Life (*coughCOLLEGEcoughcough*) is interfering with my fic-writing, there may be a little bit of a wait between chapters :( Of course, I promise not to abandon this story. Not even close! I have loads and loads of plans for Ranch Girl, like Lanna's career and such...and then there's the prequels! Ranch Girl drops a few tantalizing hints about Jack and Claire and Jill, but what ****_really _****happened during their quests deserves stories of their own! So yeah, no way am I letting this universe stagnate. ;)**

**Oh, and to any Hunger Games fans out there, I have a crossover up, called _the harvest games (do you know what it's like to die slow?). _Bunch of bite-size oneshots giving insight into what happens when your favorite characters are hurled face-first into THG. You should check it out ;) I have Sabrina, Vaughn, and Chelsea currently up, and Lanna will follow just after this. *shameless self-promotion***

**And, oh yeah, hi to the new readers! :) It does my heart good to see the favorites and follows in my email. Of coooourse, what I like best are the ones marked Review...*hint hint***

**Hahaha. Anyway, drop me a line at that handy little text box under this AN, even if it's just to tell me "liked this" or "cool" or "awful" or "Goddess wtf is this". I read every review! :) Reviews are cheesecake to me.**

**Until the next update! :*'**

**-Chrysa**


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